A Soulless Solace
by Angstier
Summary: • "Could you possibly be feeling sorry for Lord Voldemort?" -Dumbledore, p264 of -Brit- HBP. Alternative Half-Blood Prince ending with TMR/HP. Romance, dreams, obsessions, possessing… Dark!Harry. No time-travel. Obsessions with Malfoy, broken trio. Hr/R.
1. Merope Gaunt

**Note to Readers:** To begin, I must give all the credit that can possibly be given to J.K. Rowling, who is the obvious owner and creator of the Harry Potter universe. Any canon that I refer to (or flat-out use) in this fic gives full credit to JKR, and I am by no means making a prophet from this.

Also, I must add that at the beginning of this story I use a lot of canon because it is, of course, an alternative ending to Harry Potter and the Half–Blood Prince; the canon I use here is just to keep the story and it's characters as in-character as I can. The more chapters there are, the less canon I'll be using.

That's about all for now.

I dearly hope that you enjoy the story! Comments are always appreciated.

* * *

It was nearing eight O'clock in the evening when Harry headed down a deserted corridor, which was lit only by the late sunlight that filtered through the tall windows of Hogwarts Castle on this fine, summery day. No torches had been ignited within the school yet and all wall still and tranquil. Harry's footsteps echoed through the passage, his pace leisurely in contradiction to his mind, which was full of thoughts attempting to work out how the evening might end.

Since the very moment when Harry had heard what the Prophecy made for he and Voldemort had said, he had wondered when Dumbledore would begin preparing him for the battle that he knew he had no choice but to face one day. Dumbledore had had sixteen years to consider the prediction made by Sibyll Trelawney, so surely he had a plan by now to help prepare and protect Harry?

Harry certainly hoped so as he walked closer and closer to Dumbledore's office with every step. Dumbledore had a brilliant mind, at any rate, and he was surely perfectly willing to teach Harry any magic he could. Harry only hoped that he himself would be able to keep up with it all. If he wasn't smart enough to learn everything he needed to before facing Voldemort… but Harry didn't want to finish that sentence. Their battle would probably be years from now, anyway…

The only thing that kept Harry from worrying about Voldemort to an unhealthy extent was the knowledge that Dumbledore would be there for him, even if he ended up otherwise completely alone. Harry couldn't honestly bring himself to imagine the duel or battle that might break out between Voldemort and himself, but be liked to think that Dumbledore would be there, somewhere – to give him confidence if not actual help. Dumbledore always seemed to show up when his help was needed, after all.

Harry had reached the stone gargoyles that guarded the Headmaster's Office. Taking a deep breath, he gave the password ('Acid Drops') and watched as the stonewall split apart, revealing an ever-moving spiral staircase that would lead him up to Dumbledore. Harry walked onto the stairs and climbed higher, reaching the door and griffin doorknocker. He hesitated for only a moment, before knocking.

-X-

"So, Harry," Dumbledore began calmly around five minutes later. "You have been wondering, I am sure, what I have planned for you during these – for want if a better word – lessons?"

"Yes, sir," Harry responded keenly.

Harry was still a little dishevelled to see that there blatantly wasn't enough cleared space within Dumbledore's office for them to practice powerful jinxes and hexes as Ron had suggested, or else (more legally) to be taught advanced defensive magic that would protect him, as Hermione had guessed. Though Harry made no comment on this as he sat opposite his headmaster.

The office remained the same as always; lit through the tall windows by the nearly setting sun, with silver ornaments on spindle-legged tables, portraits of past headmasters and headmistresses snoozing in their frames, and Fawkes the phoenix standing on his perch by the door, watching Harry and Dumbledore converse.

"Well," Dumbledore began, "I have decided that it is time, now that you know what prompted Lord Voldemort to try and kill you fifteen years ago, for you to be given certain information."

A short silence followed these words.

"You said, at the end of last term, you were going to tell me everything," Harry said, trying hard not to sound too accusatory as he spoke. Upon hearing his own words, he found the mistake in his attempt to sound polite, and hastily added, "Sir."

"And so I did," Dumbledore confessed. "I told you everything I know. From this point fourth, we shall be leaving the firm foundation of fact and journeying together through the murky marshes of memory into thickets of wildest guesswork. From hereon in, Harry, I may be as woefully wrong as Humphrey Belcher, who believed the time was ripe for a cheese cauldron."

"But you think you're right?" Harry asked.

"Naturally I do, but as I have already proven to you, I make mistakes like the next man. In fact, being – forgive me – rather cleverer than most men, my mistakes tend to be correspondingly huger."

"Sir, does what you're going to tell me have anything to do with the prophecy?" Harry asked cautiously. "Will it help me… survive?"

"It has a very great deal to do with the prophecy," Dumbledore confirmed as calmly as always, "and I certainly hope that it will help you to survive."

Harry was still making an effort to try and guess what these lessons might be about, and Dumbledore stood up, walking around his desk towards a cabinet that rested besides the door, Harry watched him attentively. After of moment or two, Dumbledore retrieved a stone basin etched with ancient runes along its edge from the cabinet, and brought it back towards his desk, where Harry was waiting.

"You look worried," Dumbledore observed.

Harry knew at this that he must have been examining the Pensieve with an expression of vague unease. He was trying to work out what use the Pensieve could be put to here, and was trying not to think about his past experiences with this memory-holding basin, which hadn't been quite as comfortable as he could have wished. Whether it was watching a trial from fifteen years ago featuring a few Death Eaters who had been correctly convicted of a terrible crime, or seeing unfavourable memories of James, Lily, Peter, Sirius, Lupin, and Snape from their teenaged years, Harry couldn't say he was very excited about the idea of venturing into this Pensieve yet again.

"This time, you enter the Pensieve with me," Dumbledore said kindly, "and, even more unusually, with permission."

-X-

"What happened to the girl in the cottage?" Harry asked the moment they were back in Dumbledore's office, having just seen the memory of The House of Gaunt. "Merope, or whatever her name was."

"Oh, she survived," Dumbledore assured him, sitting back down at his desk and offering Harry to do so too. "Ogden Apparated back to the Ministry and returned with reinforcements within fifteen minutes. Morfin and his father attempted to fight, but both were overpowered, removed from the cottage and subsequently convicted by the Wizengamot. Morfin, who already had a record of Muggle attacks, was sentenced to three years in Azkaban. Marvolo, who had injured several Ministry employees in addition to Ogden, received six months."

"Marvolo?" Harry repeated.

"That's right," Dumbledore said. "I am glad to see you're keeping up."

"That old man was –"

"Voldemort's grandfather, yes," Dumbledore confirmed. "Marvolo, his son Morfin and his daughter Merope were the last of the Gaunts, a very ancient Wizarding family noted for a vein of instability and violence that flourished through the generations due to their habit of marrying their own cousins. Lack of sense coupled with a great liking for grandeur meant that the family gold was squandered several generations before Marvolo was born. He, as you saw, was left in squalor and poverty, with a very nasty tempter, a fantastic amount of arrogance and pride, and a couple of family heirlooms that he treasured just as much as his son, and rather more than his daughter."

"So Merope," Harry began, feeling his previous pity at the sight of the depressing girl mix with confusion and disbelief. "So Merope was… sir, does that mean she was… _Voldemort's mother_?"

"It does," Dumbledore verified. "And it so happens that we also got a glimpse of Voldemort's father. I wonder whether you noticed?"

"The man Morfin attacked? The man on the horse?"

"Very good indeed," Dumbledore said, beaming. Harry saw his headmasters' smile, and he wondered why it was there for a moment. This had been by far the grimmest memory he had ever seen… It took him a moment to register that Dumbledore must have been smiling merely because he, Harry, was working this all out so quickly…

-X-

Late Sunday evening, after hours of homework and talking with Ron and Hermione about some of what he had learnt from the memory Dumbledore showed him, Harry was staring into a fire in the Gryffindor Common Room, thinking. The only sound that could be heard beyond the crackling fire was Ron sighing about the seemingly endless conclusion to his latest essay, and Hermione turning the pages of her copy of _Advanced Potion Making_ at an uneven pace.

Hermione appeared to have taken up the habit of studying her potions book as avidly as she could in the short time there was between school and homework, and Harry guessed that she was trying to remember absolutely every tip and rule from the 'official' book, which she hoped in vain might rival that of the Half-Blood Prince. Harry didn't really know what to think of this, especially when the memory he had seen was of far more interesting to him now.

Harry wanted to talk about the memory he had seen, but since he had spoken to Ron and Hermione about it for the entire evening yesterday and for hours already today, the other two didn't seem as eager to continue discussing it as Harry was. It was past midnight when Hermione decided to go to bed, and Ron hastily rushed the end of his essay away from her prying eyes.

"I don't even care if I get a bloody 'T' for this, I'm knackered," Ron expressed in an undertone. Harry smiled a little. He had to hold back asking Ron what he thought about the memory again, as a short silence fell. Ron stretched and yawned when Harry didn't start up any conversation, and said, "we should get some sleep, finally."

"Yeah," Harry agreed almost unwillingly, and they make their way up to the boy's dormitories.

Neither of them spoke much as they got changed and headed for their beds. Ron said goodnight, and Harry mimicked as he turned off the light that rested on his bedside table. After this, Harry lay on his back, thinking. As late as it might be, he found that he wasn't as tired as he really should be from all those hours of homework and talking with Ron and Hermione. He just didn't feel as though he had thought over the memory of the Gaunt House enough. He was very intrigued by every aspect of it…

Harry didn't know what he felt towards the idea of Merope Gaunt anymore. He had felt terrible for her at first, and had pitied the sad, lonely life she had lived. The more he thought about it, the more he felt as though this was because he himself had lived a similar life with the Dursleys, on a perhaps lighter scale. Hogwarts hadn't rescued Merope however, by the looks of it. She had been stuck to live with her abusive father and brother until around the age of eighteen. Harry could imagine how horrible that must have been. Morfin and Merope probably never went to Hogwarts at all, he mused.

Marvolo had been a horrible Wizard, and his son Morfin had been the spit-and-image of him, personality wise, from all Harry could see. Marvolo had seemed insane, and far too brutish to be given the benefit of the doubt relating to his past. Harry wondered for a minute what had happened to his wife. He wondered whether she had been more like Merope or Morfin…

Then there was Tom Riddle senior, the handsome Muggle who had probably been just as fond of Merope as Marvolo. Riddle hadn't seemed like a decent person at all to Harry, even if Merope _had_ tricked him into falling in love, and running away with her. With parents who had died to save him, Harry couldn't fathom how Tom Riddle senior had been able to leave Merope when she was pregnant, and without money. Although, Harry could imagine how bewildered Riddle might have been when Merope stopped giving him the Love Potion…

The more Harry thought about it, the more he deducted that Voldemort had been created though a simple, loveless event. It would certainly make sense as to how insane he was now, and how he was unable to feel love, as Dumbledore had suggested quite a few times. Harry wondered whether Dumbledore would show him some memories of Tom Riddle at his orphanage, but he wasn't sure whether that would even be possible.

Unless memories could be taken from Muggles, and unless a few orphanage workers or orphans from when Voldemort grew up were still alive, no one besides Voldemort would have any memories of that place. It would be a bit difficult for Dumbledore to convince a Muggle to give up their memories, especially since Muggles aren't easily convinced that Magic exists. It was against the law to tell Muggles about the Wizarding World in the first place, Harry then remembered. It would be impossible to get memories, in that case…

Harry was finally feeling more tired now. Maybe Voldemort had murdered every other orphan and carer he had known… but Dumbledore wouldn't stop these memories now, even if they had to skip Voldemort's earlier childhood. They still had his Hogwarts years. Harry yawned, and lay more comfortably in his bed, thinking about the Gaunts. He couldn't wait for the next lesson with Dumbledore.

-X-

A little over a month passed before Dumbledore arranged for a second meeting with Harry, and though Harry wondered where Dumbledore had been in all that time while so much was going on at Hogwarts, he was still eager to see more memories. It was around ten minutes into their meeting when Dumbledore opened a memory, and poured it into the waiting Pensieve, swirling the stone basin a few times as Harry watched.

"You will remember, I am sure, that we left the tale of Lord Voldemort's beginnings at the point where the handsome Muggle, Tom Riddle, had abandoned his witch wife, Merope, and returned to his family home in Little Hangleton," Dumbledore said. "Merope was left alone in London, expecting the baby who would one day become Lord Voldemort."

"How do you know she was in London, sir?" Harry asked curiously.

"Because of the evidence of one Caractacus Burke," Dumbledore explained, "who, by an odd coincidence, helped found the very shop whence came the necklace we have just been discussing."

Dumbledore continued to swirl the memories within the Pensieve, and Harry watched him, waiting for him to continue. But after a moment or two, Harry realised that a figure was arising from the shimmering liquid. A short old man, whose hair obscured his eyes, could be seen revolving slowly upon the stone basin. He began to speak as soon as he was fully formed.

"Yes, we acquired it in curious circumstances. It was brought in by a young witch just before Christmas, oh, many years ago now. She said she needed the gold badly, well, that much was obvious. Covered in rags and pretty far along… going to have a baby, see. She said the locket had been Slytherin's. Well, we hear that sort of story all the time, 'Oh, this was Merlin's, this was, his favourite teapot.' but when I looked at it, it had his mark all right, and a few simple spells were enough to tell me the truth. Of course, that made it near enough priceless. She didn't seem to have any idea how much it was worth. Happy to get ten Galleons for it. Best bargain we ever made!"

With one more forceful shake of the Pensieve from Dumbledore, Caractacus Burke fell into the liquid below and vanished. Harry stared at his headmaster, who seemed quite calm.

"He only gave her ten Galleons?" Harry asked indignantly.

"Caractacus Burke was not famed for his generosity," Dumbledore simplified. "So we know that, near the end of her pregnancy, Merope was alone in London, and in desperate need of gold, desperate enough to sell her one and only valuable possession, the locket that was one of Marvolo's treasured family heirlooms."

"But she could use magic!" Harry exclaimed. "She could have got food and everything for herself by magic, couldn't she?"

"Ah," Dumbledore said, "perhaps she could. But it is my belief – and I am guessing again, but I am sure I am right – that when her husband abandoned her, Merope stopped using magic. I do not think that she wanted to be a witch any longer. Of course, it is also possible that her unrequited love and the attendant despair sapped her of her powers; that can happen. In any case, as you are about to see, Merope refused to raise her wand even to save her own life."

"She wouldn't even stay alive for her son?"

At this, Dumbledore's eyebrows raised.

"Could you possibly be feeling sorry for Lord Voldemort?"

"No," Harry said quickly, "but she had a choice, didn't she, not like my mother –"

"Your mother had a choice, too," Dumbledore interrupted lightly. "Yes, Merope Riddle chose death in spite of her son who needed her, but do not judge her too harshly, Harry. She was greatly weakened by long suffering and she never had your mother's courage. And now, if you will stand…"

"Where are we going?" Harry asked.

"This time," said Dumbledore, making his way around the desk to stand next to Harry, "we are going to enter _my_ memory. I think you will find it both rich in detail and satisfyingly accurate. After you, Harry…"

-X-

The memory of Tom Marvolo Riddle visited by Dumbledore at the orphanage gave Harry a lot to think about when he left the headmaster's office that evening. The sight of Voldemort as an eerie, eleven-year-old child was one that Harry didn't believe he would forget any time soon, if at all, and the description Dumbledore had given him of Riddle in his years at Hogwarts was much the same.

Harry could clearly visualise how amazed and awed all of the Slytherins must have been the moment Riddle displayed his ability to speak to snakes, and he could only guess how empowered Voldemort himself must have felt with the impression he had made so early on. Harry didn't think that Riddle would hesitate for even a second in seizing his chance to become the leader of the Slytherins once he understood how very astonishing his talents were. Perhaps some of the early Death Eaters had even witnessed some extraordinary, accidental magic from the boy, before he learnt to compose his emotions more efficiently at a later age.

The handsome Tom Riddle in his teenaged years would doubtlessly have charmed every Professor within Hogwarts, minus Dumbledore, and he would have made every single student within the school petrified of him just to gain more for his select group of friends, Harry was sure. These friends would one day become the vile Death Eaters that Harry hated so very much today. Harry wondered how much the early Death Eaters had managed to get away with within the castle walls, and he also wondered how Riddle had convinced them all to follow him so far into the realms of the Dark Arts… Though perhaps convincing all of his friends to become followers hadn't been that hard for Riddle…

Harry felt someone nudge his arm, and he looked over to see Hermione glaring at him.

"You're doing it again," she hissed.

They were currently in the library, doing as much of their homework as they could manage before dinner. It had been days now since Harry had seen the memory of the orphanage.

"Doing what?" Harry inquired.

"Just staring into space!" she exclaimed in a hushed voice. "You're supposed to be finishing your Transfiguration essay. I honestly can't see how your going to keep up with all the work we have to do if you keep becoming distracted by absolutely _nothing_ all of the time!"

"I was thinking," Harry snapped, annoyed. "Something I can't seem to manage when you keep interrupting me."

Harry was surprised that Hermione hadn't just left him there to be unproductive and fall behind on his work. She disapproved of his help in potions from the Half-Blood Prince so strongly that making him waste several hours doing nothing seemed a fair repayment. Harry knew he should be glad that Hermione was keeping him on track, but in truth he just wanted to dwell upon the memories.

"You've been sitting there for twenty solid minutes, Harry," Hermione explained. Luckily, she made no further comment after this as Harry returned to his essay. Harry waited five minutes, until he was sure she wasn't checking on him as often, before he continued thinking. The essay was almost done anyway, even if he had spent far too much time on it so far.

There was also the memory of Caractacus Burke, Harry remembered. He almost wished that he hadn't seen that at all. No matter what Dumbledore said about Lily being stronger than Merope, Harry couldn't help but feel as though Merope had given up too easily. She was the same as Lily in many ways. The more Harry dwelt upon it, the more he believed that it was her past that made her too weak to live on past her son's birth – along with the obvious fact that she was abandoned and heartbroken.

Harry knew she must have really loved Tom Riddle senior if she fell apart so easily after him. Besides for her son, Harry had to own that she didn't have very much to live for. Her entire life had been a living hell, so who could blame her for craving freedom once and for all? She was probably terrified that her father or brother would track her down, what was more. At least she had had the decency to live long enough to give her son life…

Yet it was after this when Harry became unsure what he should be feeling. He could rationalise the life of Merope Gaunt as much as he wanted to, but that didn't stop the fact that she had given birth to the greatest Dark Wizard the world has ever seen. Merope's story had affected Harry greatly, but the addition of Voldemort within it made Harry feel guilty for the compassion he had towards the helpless girl.

Voldemort had done a lot of terrible things, Harry knew… and he didn't deserve any sympathy, Harry decided after only a second of thought. This much was obvious. Harry stared down at his Transfiguration essay with a look of concentration and confusion, still pretending to read it. Harry just felt bad for Merope Gaunt – that was all. Harry felt as though this settled something… He just empathized with Merope Gaunt because he saw a lot of his mother in her, when he really thought about it. That didn't mean he cared about Voldemort.

Voldemort was a mistake and… but Harry couldn't say that Voldemort should have never been born. He himself might have never been born, if Voldemort had decided to kill him as soon as he had heard about the prophecy. Harry sighed, which bought him an annoyed look from Hermione. As far as Harry could tell, Voldemort didn't have the excuse to become what he became. Orphanage or no orphanage…

'_Could you possibly be feeling sorry for Lord Voldemort?_' Dumbledore had asked him. Harry wished he hadn't remembered this either. He somehow feared these words, especially hearing them from Dumbledore, who assumed things correctly almost all of the time. Tom Marvolo Riddle had suffered in an orphanage for his entire life, with no one who cared for him and with no one he cared about, just like Harry with the Dursleys. It was almost unsurprising that he was full of so much hate, because to top it all off he had been the middle of war torn London growing up. The orphanage would have been affected to some degree, with rations and fear of air raids…

Tom Riddle as an eleven-year-old seemed very, very uncanny to Harry. The paranoia he showed at the sight of Dumbledore and his determination to suss out the old wizard at even so young an age was certainly unusual. The stories Harry heard about Riddle, and what he did to the other orphans was simply creepy, and the smile that had appeared on Riddle's face when he accepted that he was a wizard was unnatural. "_I knew I was different,_" he had whispered in freakish elation and shock, "_I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something…_"

Harry would never accept the assumption that he was somehow similar to young Voldemort. He wouldn't even believe it when he remembered what Tom Riddle had suggested in the Chamber of Secrets so many years ago: "_There are strange likenesses between us, Harry Potter. Even you must have noticed. Both half–bloods, orphans, raised by Muggles. Probably the only two Parselmouths to come to Hogwarts since the great Slytherin himself._" No matter how many parallels anyone could draw between Voldemort and himself, Harry wasn't going to begin showing sympathy for the murderer of his parents.


	2. The Orphanage

Another month flew by before Harry's next lesson with Dumbledore, and in that time, a lot had happened at Hogwarts. Quidditch was not going well, despite the fact that Harry had pretended to slip Ron Felix Felicis during breakfast on their first match of term, winning them the game on confidence alone. Hermione had disapproved of Harry's scheme, but had forgotten all about it on the night of celebration in the Gryffindor Common Room. Ron ended up kissing Lavender Brown, and Harry had been comforting Hermione as well as he could ever since.

Yet as sorry for Hermione as Harry might feel, and as undecided about Ron's choice in a girlfriend as he was, his mind was still preoccupied by his lessons with Dumbledore. The only thing that distracted Harry's mind from contemplating memories of young Voldemort constantly was thought of Draco Malfoy. It irked Harry to see that Ron and Hermione were both sick of him talking about the blatant change in Malfoy, the plausible idea of him being a Death Eater, and the important fact of him sneaking around the school doing secretive things.

Since Harry's mind was constantly dwelling upon Malfoy and Riddle, he didn't end up speaking to Ron and Hermione much anymore. They both only spoke of themselves, and their dislike for each other (for they were no longer talking) while Harry pretended to listen, his mind evaluating the characteristics of young Voldemort at his orphanage, or else the sight of Merope Gaunt being abused physically and verbally by her father. Harry was eager to see more memories of Voldemort, even if he couldn't mention this very often to Ron and Hermione.

Harry took Luna Lovegood to Slughorn's Christmas party, for he couldn't think of absolutely anyone else to bring. Malfoy had been caught by Filch wandering the corridors, and he had claimed that he was attempting to sneak into the party, but by following Draco and Snape, Harry had found out that this was a lie. Draco was instead wandering the corridors for a different reason, to do a deed for Voldemort, and Snape wanted to be a part of it too, trying to help Draco as much as he could. Draco didn't want his help, and this made Harry even more suspicious of him.

For Christmas, Harry visited the Burrow with Ron, and without Hermione. In the vaguely uneventful days of no school, Harry had plenty of time to inform Ron all about what had happened after Slughorn's Party relating to overhearing Snape and Draco, but Ron refused to agree with Harry completely on his theory that Malfoy was a Death Eater. Harry gave up trying to convince him by Christmas time, by the help of many distractions relating to decorating the house and helping Mrs Weasley with chores alongside Ron, Fred, George, and Ginny.

As Celestina Warbeck, Mrs Weasley's favourite singer, played merrily throughout the house on Christmas evening, Harry conversed with Mr Weasley and Lupin about Malfoy and Snape, Fenrir Greyback, and even the Half-Blood Prince mystery. It was good to speak to Lupin again, Harry felt, though he was somewhat annoyed with his old Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher for believing his theory on Malfoy as little as Ron believed it.

By the time Christmas morning arrived, and both Percy and the Minister of Magic himself, Rufus Scrimgeour, had visited the Burrow unexpectedly and without a fully warm welcome, and Harry had forgotten about Malfoy and the memories of Tom Riddle for the first time in months. It wasn't until days after when memories of Riddle especially began returning to Harry's mind. He wondered occasionally why he cared so much, until he remembered how important it was anyway. He just wished he had more to think about.

On the first day back at Hogwarts for the new term Harry had his third lesson with Dumbledore. After a discussion with Dumbledore about Scrimgeour's unforeseen visit, and Dumbledore's personal encounters with the Minister over the summer, Harry told his headmaster about what he had discovered relating to Draco and Snape. Harry gave Dumbledore the whole story, explaining very quickly how he had followed Draco and Snape, and in more detail about what he had heard them speaking about.

When he was done, Dumbledore was quiet for a long time. Harry tried hard not to interrupt his silence, especially as his worry for the headmaster not understanding him built up. When Dumbledore spoke, his voice was as calm and careful as ever. "Thank you for telling me this, Harry, but I suggest that you put it out of your mind. I do not think that it is of great importance."

"Not of great importance?" Harry repeated, his heart sinking. "Professor, did you understand –?"

"Yes, Harry, blessed as I am with extraordinary brainpower, I understood everything you told me," Dumbledore replied, impatiently to say the least. "I think you might even consider the possibility that I understood more than you did. Again, I am glad that you have confided in me, but let me reassure you that you have not told me anything that causes me disquiet."

Harry made no reply to this, as he felt the annoyance build up inside him. He was sick of everyone not believing his theory on Malfoy, and he was irritated that Dumbledore wouldn't even allow him to hold a short conversation about the whole affair. Harry wanted to understand where Dumbledore was on thinking about this matter, he wanted to know what was happening with Snape and the young Death Eater, to Dumbledore's knowledge…

Maybe Dumbledore didn't believe Draco was capable of doing anything lethal. Well, thought Harry, Dumbledore would regret thinking this when Malfoy became a powerful Death Eater, murdering people and letting his friends join with pride. Dumbledore was going to get them all killed because he undervalued his students… Harry was sure that Dumbledore trusted Snape, merely because he was a teacher, and Dumbledore thought that he was going to stop Draco. Though there was always the possibility that Dumbledore had indeed ordered Snape to watch Malfoy, like Ron, Lupin, and Mr Weasley all thought…

"So, sir," Harry said, trying to sound as polite as he could, "you definitely still trust –?"

"I have been tolerant enough to answer that question already," Dumbledore interrupted, sounding more annoyed than ever. "My answer has not changed."

"I should think not," said a snide voice. Harry looked up to see Phineas Nigellus peering down at him and Dumbledore from his portrait, no longer pretending to be asleep. Dumbledore ignored the portrait, as Harry's annoyance increased.

"And now, Harry, I must insist that we press on," Dumbledore said. "I have more important things to discuss with you this evening…"

Harry listened to his professor, still very angry with him for not believing a word that he said. Soon after this, Dumbledore attempted to lessen Harry's irritation by mentioning how even the best of friends fight in these ways, but by this time Harry didn't care very much about Malfoy anymore. Even if Dumbledore wouldn't tell him anything about it, and even if he didn't trust his headmaster in his claims of it being unimportant, the idea of seeing more memories of Riddle was suddenly taking up more space in his mind. He could worry about Draco later…

The first memory they saw was of the sixteen-year-old Tom, talking with his uncle, Morfin, in the dark and dirty House of Gaunt. Harry had been mesmerize by the sight of Riddle, so young and yet so determined to kill, and by the sight of Morfin, who by this point was much older, and the same as his father had been in many ways. Harry was shocked to hear from Dumbledore that Riddle went to murder his father and grandparents that very evening, yet he wasn't all that surprised.

Harry had just begun thinking about what Tom Riddle had felt that night, before Dumbledore brought his attention to the second memory they would be seeing. Harry remembered that Dumbledore had said this was the most important memory he had managed to find, and Harry was intent upon seeing it. When he witnessed the scene with Slughorn, Riddle, and a few other students in the Slug Club in the forties, he wasn't at all sure why this was so very important. Nothing of any shock or significance had happened as far as he could tell. Yet when Dumbledore told him the memory had been manipulated, he finally understood a lot more.

–X–

"He wants _you_ to get the memory?" Hermione asked incredulously. They were standing in the snowy courtyard at break, which was deserted except for them both, and the occasional first years that ran past, playing in the freezing weather.

"What, you think I can't do it?" Harry asked, shielding his actual concern with a false, light-hearted tone. Despite Ron's confidence at breakfast, and claim that Harry had Slughorn wrapped around his little finger, Harry wasn't sure whether he could do a better job than Dumbledore.

"I honestly don't know whether you can manage this," Hermione replied in a negative tone. She glanced up at Harry, and appeared to see some expression on his face that gave away his actual concern, for she hastily added, "I mean, I'm sure it's _possible_, I just don't know whether… Oh, you know what I mean!"

Harry guessed that her mind was partially elsewhere, and he looked away from her for a minute, struggling to not show his annoyance. She stared at him guiltily. He didn't know what to say to her now, as he watched the falling snow. "No, I know what you mean," he half-lied in an unconvincing tone.

Hermione ignore his tone. "What were the memories that Dumbledore showed you like?" she asked, knowing this was always of great interest to Harry.

"The first one was about Riddle as a teenager," Harry said. After a short pause, he decided it was dumb to be annoyed with Hermione. He looked back at her. "He met his uncle, Morfin, at the Gaunt House, and Morfin was telling him about his mum and dad."

"What did he have to say about them?"

"Nothing much," Harry replied, "he was mostly talking about how he despised his sister for running away with 'that Muggle'. He also mentioned something about Slytherin's Locket… He blatantly cared more about that than the fact that his sister was missing."

"Blatantly," Hermione repeated, appearing somewhat exasperated with this information on Morfin. She stared at the snow besides Harry as she thought for a moment. "What was the second memory about?"

Harry had been too distracted by thinking about Tom Riddle in the Gaunt House to remember that he was still explaining all the memories to her. "The second one was about Slughorn."

Hermione seemed shocked. "Slughorn?"

"Yeah, he was a teacher here when Voldemort was at school," Harry reminded her.

"Of course," she said, appearing interested now. "What happened in the memory? Was Voldemort a part of it?"

"Yeah, Riddle was asking him about something," Harry said. "Horcruxes. But Slughorn wouldn't give him a proper answer on what they were – or we didn't get to see a proper answer, anyway. Dumbledore said, after we left the Pensieve, that Slughorn manipulated his own memory."

"Why?" Hermione asked.

"Dumbledore thinks he's ashamed of his past," Harry explained. "He says that Slughorn must have given away some information to Voldemort that he regrets now."

"I wonder what he did," Hermione said, appearing lost in thought. "If Dumbledore can't even convince him to own up to it, for the good of getting rid of Voldemort…"

Harry could sense that they were going back to the topic of how he would convince Slughorn to trust him, and he didn't feel like talking about that yet. There was still about ten minutes of break left, and Harry wanted to talk about what was actually on his mind. He had been thinking about one particular thing all day, which had even kept him up before falling asleep last night.

"What if Tom Riddle had a point in killing people?" Harry asked before he could stop himself.

He realised how terrible these words sounded even before he saw Hermione's face. She stared at him, her eyebrows raised, and her expression generally shocked. "What?"

"No, I just mean that with everything that happened concerning Borgin buying Slytherin's Heirloom off of Merope Gaunt for such a low price, actually making it so she couldn't survive after the birth of her son, and with everything concerning Tom's childhood in an orphanage, suffering who knows what past the mayhem that he caused…" Harry felt like an idiot, and knew he wasn't explaining himself right as he avoided eye contact. "I don't know, I just feel that maybe there was a reason for what he did."

"Voldemort wouldn't have even known about what happened to his mother," Hermione said, her tone losing its disbelief, and building an air of reassurance, much to Harry's relief.

"Which makes it worse," Harry observed. "He didn't know about anything stuck in that orphanage."

"But I'm sure that _Tom's_ stay at that orphanage was better than you expect," Hermione assured him. "From what you explained, it seemed like a rather clean and well looked after place. A bit gloomy, yes, but not to the extent that would effect someone growing up there."

"It was the middle of the second World War," Harry observed, finally looking at Hermione again. "He didn't have absolutely anyone around to relate to, and –"

"There were plenty of people he could have related to," Hermione interrupted, obviously thinking that Harry was just being foolish now. "He just didn't relate to them on purpose, because he was… well, just as odd as you'd expect Voldemort to be as a child. He was even deranged by then, I am sure, and born like that."

"I think he was born like that because of his parents," Harry said. "His father never loved his mother, and was forced into the marriage…"

"He was a mistake from the start," Hermione commented. She seemed completely unconcerned with Harry's comments now, and Harry could tell she was losing interest by this point. Harry decided to add one last thing, to try and make her understand where he was coming from.

"I just feel like…" he began slowly, "like there were a lot of similarities between Tom Riddle and me. His orphanage seemed just as bad as the Dursleys, if not worse."

"But you turned out alright, despite all of that, didn't you?" Hermione asked.

She smiled as another thought struck her, and spoke before Harry could think of what to reply.

"You aren't exactly going to do what Voldemort did, and act upon any insane impulses to murder people and teach yourself the Dark Arts. Voldemort turned out the way he did because he was born a psychopath, Harry. You should stop worrying about how he turned out the way he did, and start worrying about how you can put an end to it all."

Harry thought about her words, knowing how she was probably right, while at the same time hating how yet another person was telling him his theories were completely wrong, and not even worth evaluating. Harry knew he could go on telling her about every precise reason behind why he felt and knew Tom Riddle might have had a reason… but he had just escaped being thought of as insane, and he understood that he shouldn't risk being misunderstood again.

"I don't know what you are going to do about Slughorn, however," Hermione said, apparently continuing from a trail of thought she was having. "He must be determined to hide what really happened if Dumbledore couldn't get it out of him… Horcruxes… _Horcruxes…_ I've never even heard of them…"

"You haven't?" Harry asked quickly.

He had hoped that she would be able to tell him everything about Horcruxes, to give him a clue to why they might be important. He wished Dumbledore had explained what a Horcrux was.

"They must have been really advanced Dark Magic, or why would Voldemort have wanted to know about them? I think it's going to be difficult to get information, Harry, you'll have to be very careful about how you approach Slughorn, think out a strategy…"

"Ron reckons I should just hang back after Potions this afternoon," Harry remarked.

"Oh, well, if _Won-Won_ thinks that, you'd better do it," Hermione replied, losing her temper quickly. "After all, when has _Won-Won's_ judgement ever been faulty?"

"Hermione, can't you –"

"_No!"_ she cried angrily, before Harry could finish. She stormed away, insulted and irked by the mere mention of Ron.

–X–

That evening, Harry lay in bed, thinking about Voldemort's early years of life yet again. In spite of what Hermione might say, Harry didn't think the orphanage where Tom Riddle grew up would have allowed many orphans to leave perfectly sane, content with life, or without reason to hate every other person on earth. Who knew what had happened in that building, past Riddle's tricks and fights with the other orphans. Harry frowned as he lay on his back, not wanting to think about the orphanage too much, in truth… It was an eerie place.

He thought instead about other aspects of Tom's childhood. Riddle had been as alone as Harry had with the Dursleys, and Harry understood perfectly well how degrading and unpleasant it was living with people who you hated, and who hated you. It was the worst when it was a group of people. There was no escape from it, and no way of relieving the frustration that built up, besides via the relief of magic… whether it was used as a defence or a weapon.

Harry was feeling tired; yet he wanted to stay up to think about this. He tried to struggle with sleep, as he stared at the shadowed ceiling, not allowing his eyes to close. Hermione had stated the fact of Harry not being a killer as a reason to why he wasn't like Voldemort, and as an example for Riddle's insanity. Yet even if Tom hadn't known about things such as Borgin buying a locket off of his mother, basically causing her death, those things had a way of getting back to you… maybe not as obviously and possibly as Harry would like, if he used this in an argument, however…

Harry didn't think that the orphanage could have had no impact upon Tom's choices in life what so ever. A past stuck in such a gloomy place, with the London Blitz going on for who knows how long, it had to have stayed with Riddle through his teenaged years and beyond. Harry felt as though Riddle's life related to his own a lot. With abusive carers and apparently no hope of getting anywhere, and with knowing there was something else about him, because of his magic…

Was he too capable of being a murderer, Harry wondered? Harry wasn't sure whether he had it in him to kill. He had never really thought about it. Yet he was supposed to kill Voldemort one day, wasn't he? Only three years ago, Harry had claimed that he could kill Sirius when he heard the misinformed rumours that Sirius had told Voldemort where his parents, his best friends, were hiding. Had Harry really meant that threat, he wondered?

Harry doubted it, somehow. He then remembered how he was supposed to kill Voldemort one day… if Harry couldn't kill The Dark Lord, he would fail, and Voldemort would rule all of England, and beyond. If Harry could kill him, and save the country, then Harry would be left a murderer. How did Dumbledore expect it to end? For Voldemort to be put in Azkaban, where he could break himself out, like he broke out his Death Eaters? Did Dumbledore expect Harry to become a murderer? Or did he plan for Harry to trick Voldemort into somehow killing himself?

Harry gave a snort of laughter, which he was sure no one heard anyway. He couldn't imagine Voldemort ever being tricked into killing himself – or being guilted into it, for that matter. Maybe there was no end to Voldemort, until he was to die of old age. How old was he, anyway? Harry was sure that if or when he died because of Voldemort, Voldemort would get a Philosopher's Stone, and live off of that… but Harry still wasn't going down without a decent fight.

Riddle had done well on the murders of his father and grandparents, Harry thought. At only sixteen, he had managed to not only escape the Ministry's eyes, but also to frame and imprison another person he hated, and wanted to get rid of. It was a cunning scheme, especially considering how it was improvised that very night. Tom could have murdered Morfin, and moved onto The Riddle House without hesitation, but instead –

Why was Harry thinking about this? He suddenly realised how odd of a thought this was. He shouldn't be mentally contemplating Riddle on his success, he should be worrying about what Voldemort would be able to do to him now, if he could kill that well at sixteen. Might no one know Harry was dead or dying, until far too late? Although Voldemort was a little more cuckoo now than he was before his rebirth, Harry was sure… maybe he was tactless now, when he wanted someone dead. Ruthless murders…

Harry was very tired, and could no longer keep his eyes open. He allowed himself to go to bed, thinking that maybe if he fell asleep now, he could have some time before waking up to think about this, if he felt like it. Once Harry fell asleep, he had many vague dreams about Quidditch, general school life, the DA, to his surprise, and his friends. It towards the end of the night when Harry had a dream of particular importance, and it was both eerily vivid and surprising close to memory.

He was standing in the Chamber of Secrets once more, but Ginny was nowhere to be seen. Instead it was just Harry, standing opposite who could only be Tom Riddle. Twirling a wand in his hand slowly, with his long, thin fingers, and leaning against one of the tall pillars of the Chamber, Tom was watching Harry carefully. Tom was as handsome as Harry had ever remembered him. Tall, thin, and pale, with dark hair and eyes… Harry might have been back in the Chamber as a twelve year old again, except there was no danger around this time, and he was alone with Tom.

Harry didn't notice the statue of Salazar Slytherin, nor the stone snakes with shocking real appearances, and eyes that would seem to follow him if he walked. Tom was the only thing that was important to focus on, and he appeared perfectly real in this dream, like the rest of the Chamber. All was calm, silent, and still, except the twirling of Harry's wand, in Tom's hand, and Tom's examining eyes, which travelled over Harry.

"That's my wand," Harry said suddenly, his voice echoing through the Chamber.

The corners of Tom's lips twitched into a smile, and still he watched Harry, twirling the wand in his hand at the same, slow pace.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked Tom after a pause, thinking that maybe a question would provoke a response.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Tom inquired softly in return, still smiling. His voice echoed against the vast space too, but unlike for Harry, Tom's voice was full of hisses that faded after what felt like a long time.

"I don't remember how I got here," Harry stated. Tom said nothing, so Harry tried another question. "Why are _we_ here, then?"

"You tell me," Tom replied quietly. His smile refreshed. "This is your dream, after all… So isn't it only what you make it?"

"I can't see why I'd have a dream about you," Harry remarked. He felt uncomfortable under Tom's gaze… and he wondered why. He watched his wand spinning within Tom's hand for a while. Everything felt very real. "Unless this isn't a dream…"

When he looked back at Tom's face, he saw that the Heir of Slytherin was no longer smiling. But when Tom saw Harry looking at him curiously, a different sort of smile broke out upon his lips, this time showing his teeth. It wasn't menacing, To Harry's surprise, yet it seemed false. "You aren't unintelligent…"

Harry opened his mouth to reply to this, but he stopped, distracted by blood suddenly dripping from Tom's nose. He was about to comment upon it, before Tom opened his mouth slightly, and blood began pouring out of that too. Tom was unaffected by it, even interested, as he reached up a hand to touch the quickly pouring liquid. When he looked up at Harry again, grey eyes meeting green, all he did was smile, until Harry woke up with a jolt.

It was still dark in the dormitory, and Harry was sure that no one else was awake. His heart was beating quickly, but his breath was even after only a minute of being awake. He wondered what on earth that had been about, as he lay in the darkness… that was perhaps the most realistic dream he had ever had. He would have thought it was a vision, had his scar not felt fine… He fell back to sleep before he could help himself, being too tired not to, but he didn't forget about the dream when he woke up only a little while later.


	3. The Beauty of Hogwarts

January and February flew by without Harry receiving so much as a note from Dumbledore, and it wasn't until March the tenth when their next lesson took place. For a change, Harry hadn't been looking forwards to this meeting, because he had had no success in his attempts to convince Slughorn to give up the memory of Tom Riddle. He had tried cornering the Professor after class, as Ron had suggested, but this act had only resulted in Slughorn now avoiding Harry as much as he possibly could. He had even gone so far as to stop his Slug Club gatherings… although Harry couldn't say that he was exactly opposed to this particular fact.

Dumbledore had been very disappointed, on the night of their fourth lesson, to see that Harry had failed in getting Slughorn's memory. Harry was embarrassed by it, but he thought privately, as he sat in Defence Against the Dark Art's class a week later, that Dumbledore couldn't possibly be more annoyed about this than Harry himself was. Harry spend almost all of his free time between (and during) classes thinking about how he could trick Slughorn into giving him the memory, telling him the secrets of Voldemort…

The latest memories that Dumbledore had showed Harry had been extremely interesting, and despite feeling bad about his lack of contribution, Harry was extremely happy that he had seen more pieces of Voldemort's past. He spent a lot of time thinking about Riddle at Hepzibah's Smiths house, as well as him being interviewed by Dumbledore for the Defence Against the Dark Arts teaching post at Hogwarts. They were important, these memories, and they were giving Harry a perfect idea of what Voldemort was like…

Harry had to force himself many times to not mention the fact that Voldemort had a blatant reason to kill Hepzibah Smith. He knew that neither Ron nor Hermione would be willing to agree with him, even though Hermione's argument had been contradicted, relating to Voldemort not knowing what happened to his mother and thus having no reason to seek revenge. There was still the strange fact that Riddle had murdered someone to steal a few objects… Heirlooms, and objects of great historical meaning, yes, but still just objects.

But there was something else that bothered Harry every time he dwelt upon the newest memories. Tom Riddle had wanted to return to Hogwarts as a teacher so badly that he even cursed the Defence Against the Dark Arts post. Harry didn't care that the teaching post would be jinxed for quite a long time, nor did he care that such an eerie thing had been done for a mere job. It only bothered him to know that wanting to stay at Hogwarts for as long as possible, and thinking of the great castle as home was another thing that he apparently shared in common with Tom Riddle.

The more Harry thought about it, the more peculiar it seemed that Tom Riddle had once walked through the same corridors that he now walked along, attended the same classes that he now attended, and enjoyed a similar life at Hogwarts, as their one and only home. Harry knew that Tom must have adored this school as much as he did, with all its secrets, comfort, magic, and astonishing beauty, and it amazed Harry to know that even someone like Voldemort could find it within him to care for this school.

Riddle must have dreamt of the glorious days when he could return here again, in any way, to continue living the happy life that Hogwarts supplied… Even if Harry wasn't blind to know that Tom had, unlike him, studied the darkest magic imaginable within these walls, the thought of Riddle relishing in the freedom of Hogwarts made Harry think that perhaps he hadn't been all that bad – as a teenager, at least. Harry felt almost guilty for thinking this… but it wasn't as though he would have to tell Ron and Hermione, anyway.

Harry didn't know what he was going to do about Slughorn. Even after what had happened on Ron's Birthday, concerning Ron being fed a love potion, then poisoned by a class of mead in Slughorn's office, and Harry miraculously saving Ron with a bezoar while Slughorn stared in shock, Harry had had no luck what so ever in speaking to the Potion's Master about the memory of Tom Riddle. Harry wanted the memory very badly, but was completely out of ideas on how to acquire it.

What could Slughorn possibly he hiding, Harry wondered? Harry hadn't the slightest clue what a Horcrux was, and even Hermione couldn't work it out, despite the research that she had kindly – and bravely – done upon the subject. Harry felt that he would be willing do to anything to get the answers off of Slughorn… It wasn't so much defeating Voldemort with this information that interested Harry, he just wanted to understand what could possibly have been going on in young Voldemort's head.

–X–

The following weekend, Harry had been attempting to break into the Room of Requirement, where he had discovered Malfoy was hiding – doing something under Voldemort's orders, he was completely sure. Ron and Hermione were at Hogsmeade, taking Apparition Lessons, and Harry was frustrated and tired after hours of trying different combinations to open the unknowable room.

He had been watching the Marauder's Map determinedly, still waiting for his chance to catch Malfoy in the crimes he was evidently committing, or going to commit. What task might Voldemort have set Malfoy to do, Harry wondered? Harry knew that he wouldn't be able to just guess randomly what it could be, so he stuck with being as intent as he possibly could upon finding ways to catch Malfoy. He decided that he wasn't going to give up trying to break into the Room of Requirement today until he finally opened it, even if he would be here until nightfall…

This was, of course, before Tonks showed up.

"Tonks?" Hermione and Ron had asked simultaneously.

"Yeah," Harry said, "she said she'd come to visit Dumbledore."

They were sitting in the Great Hall at lunch. Harry had found Ron and Hermione here a few minutes ago, after begrudgingly giving up his search for Malfoy. Ron and Hermione had both returned form their Apparition Lessons in Hogsmeade, and from what they told Harry, they had made quite a lot of progress in this week's lesson. Harry was glad to hear it, even if he himself couldn't take the lessons.

Harry began explaining the short story of him meeting Tonks.

"If you ask me," Ron said the moment Harry finished speaking, "she's cracking up a bit. Losing her nerve after what happened at the Ministry."

"It's a bit odd," Hermione said, appearing worried. "She's supposed to be guarding the school, why's she suddenly abandoning her post to come and see Dumbledore when he's not even here?"

"I had a thought," Harry said. He paused, feeling somewhat awkward with what he was going to say. "You don't think she can have been… you know… in love with Sirius?"

"Why on earth do you say that?" Hermione asked, bewildered.

"I dunno," Harry said, "but she was nearly crying when I mentioned his name… and her Patronus is a big four-legged thing now… I wondered whether it had become… you know… him."

"It's a thought," Hermione said, "but I still don't know why she'd be bursting into the castle to see Dumbledore, if that's really why she was here…"

"Goes back to what I said, doesn't it?" Ron said, seeing his chance to speak. "She's gone a bit funny. Lost her nerve. Women," he said, directing his words to Harry now. "They're easily upset."

"And yet," Hermione began with no hesitation, "I doubt you'd find a _woman_ who sulked for half an hour because Madam Rosmerta didn't laugh at their joke about the hag, the Healer and the _Mimbulus mimbletonia_."

Ron glowered at Hermione.

"Speaking of Dumbledore, though, where do you reckon he goes when he isn't at Hogwarts?" Harry asked, leading them back to the subject that interested him, as well as diverting the conversation from an argument, as he hid a smirk. Ron and Hermione had only recently begun talking again, after all. "He can't have been away for this long in other years."

"Well, obviously he's just getting more memories about Voldemort," Ron said, appearing happy that the subject was being changed, "which he never did any other year."

"He doesn't show me _that_ many memories," Harry said. "Dumbledore is barely even at the school anymore…"

Harry watched Ron glance at the staff table, and more specifically at Dumbledore's chair in the centre of it, which was once again unoccupied.

"We've realised this as well as everyone else – including Scrimgeour, as I told you."

"But Dumbledore's absence only to be expected," Hermione reasoned. "With the Death Eaters rising to power again, and Dumbledore finally having the chance to speak to people, be them Ministry involved or not, he likely has meetings constantly."

"Not to mention, there's the Order to run," Rom added. "Maybe that's why Tonks wanted to see him so much today."

"I hope there's nothing wrong," Hermione said.

"She would have mentioned it," Harry assured her. "But I wonder why she thought Dumbledore might be here…"

"Why are you wondering where Dumbledore is, anyway?" Hermione inquired. "Your next meeting won't be until after you get the memory off of Slughorn."

Harry's heart sank. He had forgotten about that…

"I dunno, I just…" Harry trailed away. In full honesty, he now realised, he had been hoping restlessly that Dumbledore might indeed have more memories for him. "I just want to know why all of these facts about Voldemort are so important."

"Well," Hermione said, her tone overbearing, "there's only one way you can find out why it all matters."

Harry didn't want to hear her say it again, so he made no reply to this.

"Oh, just tell you're at least _trying_ to talk Slughorn into giving you the information!" Hermione pleaded, sounding exasperated and exhausted with this subject now.

"Of course I'm trying!" Harry replied, annoyed.

"I'm sorry to say it, Harry, but continuously chasing after Slughorn just won't do it. You have to think of a proper plan."

"Why don't you do it, then, if it's that simple?"

"It's not my responsibility to do it," Hermione reminded him. "Dumbledore wouldn't set you this task if he didn't think you could handle it."

Harry didn't reply to this.

"But even if Harry _does_ fail," Ron began, appearing unconcerned when Harry scowled at him, "Slughorn can't hide that memory from Dumbledore forever. He must be dreaming, if he–"

"I had a dream about Tom Riddle about two months ago," Harry interrupted, without thinking.

There was a pause, where Hermione and Ron both appeared confused.

"So?" Ron asked.

"It was really real," Harry said. He didn't know how to explain it. "It was like… we were actually standing there."

"We?" Ron asked. "Were Hermione and I there?"

"No," Harry said. "I meant me and Riddle."

"What happened in the dream?" Hermione asked. Her tone was indifferent.

"I was in the Chamber of Secrets, and Riddle was there too. He was just… standing there. He had my wand, as well. And he kept smiling every time I spoke, and wouldn't answer me fully when I asked why we were there. He stopped smirking when I asked if it wasn't a dream… and it looked like I said something he either didn't want to hear, or wasn't expecting."

"That's sort of creepy," Hermione said, only a little bemused.

"No, the creepy part was when he started bleeding," Harry said. "Out of his nose and mouth."

"What about it, though?" Ron asked. "Was there a basilisk around or something?"

"No," Harry replied, "It was just me and him."

"Well, you should be glad he was bleeding," Ron said. "Better him than you."

"But you don't get it," Harry said, unsatisfied with their reactions, or lack thereof, "It was like I was actually there."

"But it can't have been a view into Voldemort's mind or anything," Hermione said apathetically. "I think it must have just been a vivid dream."

"Maybe…" Harry said, still very unconvinced. Ron and Hermione moved into other subjects after this, leaving Harry to feel alone in the notion that this was somehow important.

–X–

Whether it was his mind dwelling upon the thought too much, or else some sort of indication that he wasn't completely wrong, Harry had another dream about Tom Riddle that very night. After hours of lying in bed, contemplating the things that Ron and Hermione had said, or else thinking about how to trick Slughorn, Harry found himself drifting off to sleep…

He was standing in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, in the drawing room. The room was perfectly recognisable to him, with large, curtained windows overlooking the street outside, a writing desk sitting in view, the tapestry displaying the Black Family Tree still taking up an entire wall, unable to be removed, and the fireplace set between two large and elaborate glass-fronted cabinets, storing many items that Harry, Hermione, Sirius, and the Weasleys had gone through two summers ago.

Harry was standing in the centre of the room, with the ability to feel and see as clearly as he might have, had this not – perhaps – been a dream. The only thing that stopped him believing all of this was real was his somewhat fuzzy mind, and his unnaturally calm emotional state. He felt slower than usual, as if either something within him, or something within his current physical existence, was a little off.

He stood for perhaps minutes, just thinking. When he heard light footsteps, and the sound of the door leading to the hallway creaking open, he turned around calmly. Kreacher had just walked into the room, and was now looking up at Harry with his ever-resenting eyes.

"How do I look?" Harry asked, not choosing these words himself, he felt.

"Lovely, sir," the house-elf replied, perhaps mockingly. "He'll be here any moment, Kreacher should think."

"Who?" Harry asked. His first thought was Sirius…

"Mr Riddle, of course," Kreacher replied. "Kreacher was told you knew this… but Kreacher would only expect as much from the master he is forced to serve, friends of Mudbloods and blood trait–"

For once Kreacher stopped mumbling. The doorbell rang. Harry didn't hear the portrait of Sirius's Mother yelling and screaming, which surprised him slightly. But he knew that the portrait would have set a different feel upon the air, one he was more familiar with… and that hadn't happened in the Chamber of Secrets. Kreacher had left the room, but Harry was too busy thinking to notice this, before the house-elf returned.

Kreacher was accompanied, of course, by Tom Marvolo Riddle. Tall, pale, and exceedingly handsome, Tom's eyes traveled carefully as he examined the room. He walked in smooth, tranquil movements, and seemed pleasantly interested in Grimmauld Place, before he ceased walking. His eyes finally fell on Harry, and that familiar smile curled softly on his lips. They stood only a few meters apart.

Kreacher left the room, closing the door behind him. Harry's heart was beating quickly, and he wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was in anger at seeing young Voldemort, or fear? It didn't feel like it, somehow… He pushed the thought out of his mind, concentrating instead upon Tom, and the silent room.

"What is this?" Harry asked.

"What is what, exactly?" Tom asked quietly. His voice was full of as many hisses as Harry had heard in the Chamber, but they were quieter now, in this smaller space.

"All of this," Harry said, "Everything in this… dream, or whatever it is."

Tom took a moment to decide upon a reply to this question. Harry was relieved that he was actually speaking today, and he watched as Tom tilted his head to the side slightly. "You again believe this is a dream?"

"Well, what else can it be?" Harry asked.

He waited for a reply, but Tom did not give one.

"My friends don't understand when I say these aren't ordinary dreams," Harry said.

"They wouldn't."

"Why not?"

Again, Tom took his time in deciding upon an answer. "They have likely never felt anything similar to this. They likely never will."

"Then how do I feel it?"

"I cannot answer that," Tom said softly. He spoke again before Harry could interrupt. "You may, however, be able to guess… eventually."

"Why can't you tell me?" Harry inquired, thinking Tom might just enjoy watching him struggle.

"You haven't given me the equipment to."

"And how do I give you the equipment?"

"You can't. You must work it out, and do it yourself. I cannot help you piece together a puzzle while I reside in your head." Tom smiled. "You cannot ask another to think for you, if it is that you wish to get a satisfactory and untainted answer."

"So, what your saying is that you can't help me at all to understand why we're here?" Harry asked, feeling somewhat annoyed.

"Quite," Tom responded.

"Then why do I need you at all?"

"I'm a part of this, evidently." Tom said, finding amusement in all of this, it seemed. "But I believe you are mixing up quite a few things… It isn't the 'dreams' that you're supposed to be figuring out, but rather the purpose behind them, as a whole."

"What do you mean?"

Tom paused, thinking. "Perhaps it is too soon for you to understand…"

"No it isn't," Harry said quickly.

When Tom made no reply, Harry thought back to what he said, trying to understand it more.

"So… these 'dreams' are just to cover up something else?"

Tom inclined his head, the soft smile on his lips again. Harry took this as a 'yes'. He wanted to ask what these dreams were covering, but he knew that Tom wouldn't answer him directly.

"Am I even asleep?"

"A worthy question," Tom stated. But he did not carry on.

"What are you?"

Tom's smile broadened, and he remained silent.

"Am I imagining you?"

"If you were imaging me, I do believe that it would be somewhat easier to get answers off of me," Tom said, his hiss filled voice progressively softer, as he examined Harry.

Harry didn't know whether to believe Riddle. He couldn't see how this wasn't a dream… while at the same time, he couldn't see how it was. Everything was so clear, so convincingly accurate… He didn't feel like Tom was a figure of his imagination. He would be able to control the Heir of Slytherin if he had created him…

"Why did you come here tonight?" Harry asked, realising he hadn't asked this before. The room was very quiet past their voices.

It was a while before Tom answered this question, but Harry didn't interrupt his evident thinking. Tom was walking towards him slowly. "Do you wish for me to leave?" he asked gently.

He continued taking careful steps towards Harry, and Harry watched him. "No, I just…"

Harry didn't understand what any of this was even about. Tom was standing very close to him now… Harry might have thought Tom would attack him, had it not been for the calm expression in his eyes. Harry couldn't remember what they were speaking about, and his heart was beating progressively quicker. Tom smiled, watching him contently.

"I brought you flowers," he whispered, conjuring red roses from nowhere.

The roses floated in the air, but Harry barely saw them. He felt fingers clasping around his own, and he gazed into Tom's dark grey eyes. Tom brought their hands up, to bring Harry's closer to his lips. He kissed Harry's hand softly, his eyes never breaking away…

Harry awoke. Immersed in utter darkness, he lay on his back, his heart hammering and his breath uneven. He might have merely closed his eyes while standing in front of Tom, except he could feel the bed beneath him, and could no longer feel Tom's fingers around his own. The skin on the back of Harry's hand felt oddly cold…

Harry was bewildered with the dream, and he couldn't think properly. Part of him, perhaps the part that was numb while he was standing in Grimmauld Place, was terrified at the idea that he had seen young Voldemort again this clearly, while another part of him, the part that was perhaps forcing his heart to beat at an alarming rate, had actually enjoyed seeing Tom, speaking to him, feeling him…

Harry closed his eyes. He didn't like Riddle. He didn't want anything to do with him… These dreams – and Harry refused to call them anything else, now – were just out of his control. Harry tried not to wonder why his mind created a vague imitation of what had happened at Hepzibah Smith's house so many years ago, and tried not to wonder why Tom's hand had felt so good around his own… Was Harry only keen upon seeing memories of Voldemort because he wanted to see Riddle more?

Harry scowled in the darkness. He didn't want to see Riddle more often, and he didn't think about these memories just for Tom… he wanted to defeat Voldemort. He was sure of it… There was no explanation for what had happened, and why. Did this not prove that these were mere dreams? Just random events collected together, and made to seem more real, maybe because his mind was scared of Tom, or something.

Harry was extremely tired. Tom's actions had been meaningless, and Harry was sure they had happened only because of the memory of Hepzibah Smith. Harry had only liked it because… because none of his emotions were right in that dream. If he had actually been himself, he would have been alarmed at the sight of Tom, and wouldn't have hesitated to either flee the scene of fight the Heir of Slytherin. Yes, Harry thought, this sounded like a reasonable explanation…

Yet in spite of an explanation, Harry lay awake for over an hour, replaying the dream in his mind, to try and make more sense of it.


	4. Acquaintances

It was Friday the twenty-first of March, four days after Harry had dreamt about Tom Riddle at Number 12, Grimmauld Place. Harry found himself sitting in the Gryffindor Tower with Ron and Hermione, sharing the room with a few other Gryffindors who were laughing and joking with each other. The week had passed by slowly for Harry and though he was happy that he didn't have to begin his homework until at least midday tomorrow, the many thoughts that bothered him ruined what might have otherwise been a well-deserved break from stress.

Harry hadn't dreamt about Tom Riddle once since Monday and he still didn't know what to think about these 'dreams' in general. He didn't know why they were happening. He couldn't find an answer for why Tom treated him the way he did; it confused Harry when he thought about the last dream, when Tom had lifted his hand, kissing it lightly. That had felt more real than anything and it unnerved Harry. He was just glad that these dreams hadn't happened since then.

Yet then again, Harry thought, it wasn't much of a comfort that these dreams hadn't happened since Monday, considering he had spent several days now lost in his own troubled reflections about it all. It wasn't to the extent where Harry was falling behind on his work, but Hermione for one thought it was getting close to that. Despite the fact that her and Ron were friends again, thus were more willing to talk _to_ Harry rather that _at_ him, Harry still felt as though he was drifting from them somewhat – and Hermione doubtlessly felt this too.

"Is there anything bothering you, Harry?" she asked curiously as they sat around a slowly burning fire, seated in their usual comfortable armchairs.

Harry looked up, her voice having interrupted his thoughts. "Er, no I'm fine. Why?"

"You seem distracted," she said, staring at him.

He didn't know what to say to this.

"Gotta admit, you've been pretty quiet lately," Ron added. Ron didn't appear quite as concerned as Hermione was about this, but he was bothered enough to join the conversation, looking up from _Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland_ (which he was reading for the umpteenth time now). He watched Harry closely, like Hermione. "What's bothering you?"

"It's nothing," Harry said, not meeting his eyes.

"You've barely spoken to us all week, Harry," Hermione stated. "You can't just tell us it's nothing."

Harry attempted to shrug it off, but neither Ron nor Hermione seemed convinced.

"Are you worried about Quidditch?" Ron asked, his book perhaps inspiring him.

"Why would I be worried about Quidditch now?" Harry asked.

"Good point…"

"What about school?" Hermione suggested. "If the work is too much for you, you know I'd be more than willing to help explain–"

"No, I'm fine with school," Harry said honestly. Hermione already helped him as much as he needed her to and he didn't quite fancy the idea of being forced to think about school – and only about school – when he did his homework. Allowing his mind to wander for a few minutes at a time was the only way work was marginally bearable. "Thanks for offering…"

"When, I don't know what else could be troubling you," she said, sounding annoyed and exhausted by this point. She perhaps thought her tone would prompt the truth out of Harry. "But whatever it is–"

"It's really nothing, Hermione," Harry interrupted her, trying to reassure her. He didn't want to hear her complain about this when he knew he couldn't give her a true answer. The truth would be difficult to explain even to Ron and Hermione. "I don't want to talk about it…"

Ron glanced at Hermione when he thought Harry wasn't looking. Hermione didn't drop her concerned gaze from Harry, however.

"Whatever it is, you can tell us," she said, her concern quickly overriding her annoyance upon hearing Harry's attempt at a comforting tone. "We'll always be here to listen."

Harry looked away from her, wishing she would just leave him to his thoughts. "I'll keep that in mind."

A silence fell. Harry knew that he really must have looked anxious if Ron and Hermione were making such a big fuss out of this. He supposed that they were shocked by how much time he spent worrying over his internal debates about whether the dreams meant anything or whether they were just dreams (even if they didn't know the exact root of his obvious distress). He suddenly wished his facial expression hadn't betrayed him, even if his lack of talking might have done that anyway…

"Is it Voldemort who's bothering you?" Hermione asked quietly. The other Gryffindors were too far away to be listening in to this conversation.

Harry felt his stomach clench in nerves, but he tried hard now to show it. Hermione still seemed to notice this anyway, as well as Ron.

"I knew it!" Ron said in a hushed voice. "Have you been seeing visions or something?"

Harry had to try hard not to wince. "No, you know those have stopped since Voldemort realized the connection between us last year…"

"What is it then?" Ron pressed.

"It's nothing," Harry lied.

"Don't tell us it's nothing!" Hermione exclaimed in a hushed voice. "If you're worried about Voldemort – or if you fear something relating to him – you have to tell Dumbledore, Harry."

"It's not that important," Harry said. "Dumbledore only wants me to get that Memory anyway, he doesn't want to listen to anything else."

"Is it about those dreams you've been having?" Ron suddenly asked, as if the idea just struck him. "You know, the ones about Tom Riddle or whatever?"

Harry opened his mouth a little, but he stopped himself from answering to this. He didn't know what to say. Some part of him wanted to confide in Ron and Hermione, to lift this weight off of his shoulders, but another part of him wanted to keep it a secret, to try and forget about it if he was fortunate enough to stop having these dreams…

"Oh for heaven's sake, just tell us what it is, Harry!" Hermione asked of him. "You're driving the both of us up the wall with worry!"

"It – it's not that important," Harry said lamely, still unsure about what he should and shouldn't say.

"Was it in the Chamber again?" Ron asked, trying to encourage Harry.

"No," Harry admitted. Hesitantly, he continued. "It was at the Grimmauld Place, oddly…"

"And?" Hermione urged.

"And nothing, really, it was just… it was just really real again. I could have sworn it was more than a dream, but I know it can't have been."

"Was Voldemort there?" Ron asked. "What'd he do?"

"It wasn't Voldemort," Harry said, "It was just Tom Riddle again. He didn't really do anything…"

"What's worrying you about it, then?" Hermione asked.

"That's the thing," Harry began, seeing his chance to make sense of this, "there wasn't anything to worry about. It was just the fact that it was so convincing again. It was like I was actually there."

Hermione sighed in what could only be relief, smiling for the first time. "Dreams can be very convincing sometimes, Harry."

"But this was different–"

"Yet it can't have been an actual vision or anything," Hermione reminded him. "You shouldn't worry about it so much."

Harry was about to respond, to argue again that this was something else, but he stopped himself. He looked away from the two of them, regretting his choice to tell them about this, suddenly.

Something in his face seemed to give away what he was feeling.

"Harry, you really shouldn't fret over this," Hermione began. "It can't–"

"It's fine," Harry cut across her. "I told you it was nothing, really. I'm fine."

Ron and Hermione looked at each other as another silence fell. This annoyed Harry, somehow, and before he really knew what he was doing, he stood up.

"I'm going to bed," he told the two of them.

"What, now?" Ron asked, confused. "It's only ten."

"I'm tired," Harry told them truthfully. "I just need some rest."

"Well, I hope you feel better tomorrow," Hermione said, her brow creased.

Harry turned away. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight…"

Harry didn't look back as he climbed the staircase to the boy's dormitories, planning on thinking in peace. He was tired, but lately he had been staying up for hours upon hours at night, perhaps in fear of dreaming about Tom Riddle again, as well as from the stress of school. Harry got changed out of his robes when he was in the deserted dormitory. He got into bed, taking off his glasses once he was under the covers. He put them on the bedside table besides his wand, before lying still.

The silence and the darkness were bliss. Harry lay for a moment, not thinking as he breathed evenly, trying to relax. His eyes were closed and the warm covers around him soothed his body. He wished Ron and Hermione would stop bugging him about what was bothering him, considering they didn't take him seriously when he discussed his worries. He knew they were only trying to help, but… he felt as though he needed someone else to talk to. He felt as though he was becoming distanced from them, somehow…

This thought disturbed him almost as much as thoughts of Tom Riddle often did. He opened his eyes. He didn't want to lose his two best friends, yet some part of him knew that Ron and Hermione were going to be together one day, which would leave him on his own – perhaps to fight Voldemort without help, or to die alone in the process. After that, Ron and Hermione would move on with their lives and eventually forget about him, thinking only about how he failed to defeat the greatest Dark Wizard of all time…

Harry moved uncomfortably in the bed, pulling the covers over his head as he curled up into his side. The darkness that surrounded him was complete, so it didn't matter whether his eyes were open or closed now. He wished Ron and Hermione could understand why he cared so much about these 'dreams'. He wished they weren't so distracted by each other and by schoolwork, so they could take a moment to see that Harry was experiencing some peculiar visions that even he couldn't understand. Harry took a deep intake of breath and shivered…

Suddenly it was different.

The warm bedcovers of Harry's bed were gone and he was no longer lying down. He sat on what felt like an uncomfortable armchair, full of old springs, while the cold temperature of this new room easily reaching his body though the material of his pyjamas. Realizing now that his eyes were indeed closed, Harry opened them slowly.

This didn't do much to help him see where he was. He was sitting in the middle of an empty room, but he couldn't yet see many details about it. The first thing he became aware of was the sound of the wind sighing against the large windows. As his eyes got more used to the darkness, he then noticed that he was not alone.

Tom Riddle was sitting opposite him, positioned in an identical armchair that was placed at an angle, like Harry's was, towards a large fireplace. The fireplace was bare of a fire, which resulted in this cobweb-filled room appearing greatly vacant. The large, cracked windows didn't help much either.

"_Incendio_," Tom murmured.

The fire started immediately. Previously cold and neglected logs were crackling happily as though they had been lit for hours, causing enough light to shed upon the room for Harry to finally recognise where they were. It was the Riddle House.

"How nice of you to join me this evening," Tom said softly when he could see Harry.

"Did I have a choice?" Harry asked carefully, feeling uneasy as he reflected that Tom had a wand while he did not.

"Why, of course," Tom responded lightly. "You can leave whenever you wish, if you indeed want to… yet I must mention it's a long way away from Hogwarts Castle."

Harry was about to ask Tom what he meant by that, but he stopped himself on second thought, knowing that he could only receive a vague, uninformative answer from Tom. "Why'd you bring me here?" he asked instead.

"You needed someone to talk to," Tom voiced.

"How did you know that?" Harry asked.

Tom gave no answer.

"Well, I only really want to talk to Ron or Hermione, really."

Tom tilted his head to the side a little, appearing vaguely surprised. "Then why did you go to bed so early?"

"I – I was… I just felt tired."

Tom watched Harry closely, as though he didn't quite believe this claim.

"It's just that I can't really explain to them what's bothering me," Harry continued, trying to defend his choice.

"And what is bothering you?" Tom inquired.

Harry was close to responding 'it's nothing' but he stopped. Knowing that this was likely only a dream and knowing that in dreams one was only surrounded by their own subconscious, Harry felt as though it wouldn't hurt to talk to Tom about this. It wasn't like it was the real Voldemort, anyway, it couldn't be.

"It's just," Harry began slowly, choosing his words carefully, "I don't understand why these dreams keep happening, so I'm a bit worried about it…"

Tom thought about this, examining Harry carefully. "Why do you feel as though you cannot tell your friends this?"

"It's not that I can't tell them this," Harry said, "it's just that they don't seem to get it when I try to. They don't think this means anything and they tell me that I shouldn't worry about something so meaningless, which only makes it worse."

"Well," Tom began quietly, "as I said in our last meeting, they have likely never felt anything similar to this."

"What do you mean by that though?" Harry asked.

Tom thought about this for a time, before coming up with an answer. "I mean only that it would be futile to try and get them to see your view upon these 'dreams' – especially if you are worried, since they will be unable to see what the problem is… if indeed you see a problem."

Harry could find no response to this. The biggest problem he had with these meetings was that he didn't want Tom to kiss him or say soft things to him when this was all so shockingly real. He refused to believe that he liked Tom and he didn't want anything to question that belief. He didn't know what he was going to do about this if it became a problem…

"In what way are your friends' reactions unsatisfactory?" Tom asked softly, his voice only just audible over the sounds the fire made. "Merely in the sense that they deny the claim that these 'dreams' are important?"

"Yeah," Harry said, "they think that just because this isn't a vision into Voldemort's present, it must be nothing but a vivid dream."

"I see…"

The two Wizards watched each other.

"How does that make you feel?" Tom asked.

Brilliant, Harry thought in annoyance, Voldemort was his subconscious therapist…

"What I mean is," Tom carried on, noticing that Harry's silence wasn't a good sign, "you must be feeling somewhat secluded, or else we wouldn't be meeting here again."

"You're the one who brought me here," Harry said, sure of his own words. "I definitely didn't come here by choice."

"But you wished for someone to talk to," Tom said.

"So you brought me here for a chat?" Harry asked in disbelief.

A smile crept upon Tom's lips. The smile seemed to turn hollow when Tom's eyes broke away from Harry's, however. He began to examine the room; there was hatred visible behind his dark eyes while he took in the details of it, perhaps having previously avoided an examination due to his intense dislike of the memories attached to the old owners of the Riddle House…

"Why would you bring me here?" Harry asked cautiously.

Tom looked for a moment as though he hadn't heard Harry, but eventually he gave an answer. "This will all make sense when you work out what these dreams are for…"

"Doesn't it annoy you to be in your dead father's house again?"

Tom's eyes snapped back to Harry's. His gaze was not sharp, yet it was obvious that he didn't appreciate such a direct mention of his father. He seemed close to giving a response relating to the subject of his family, but he stopped. Smiling mechanically, he said, "There is much else for us to discuss, Harry. Let us not get stuck on needless details."

Harry was a bit confused by this, but he decided to not press the subject. He didn't know what to say after this.

"Tell me more about yourself," Tom suggested, his tone light.

"I'd rather you told me more about you," Harry admitted. "I'll only bore you with discussing my life."

"I assure you, you wouldn't bore me." Tom smiled again.

"What are you?" Harry asked, determined to ask about Tom first.

"I'm a Wizard," Tom responded, "much like you."

"But you're not a real person," Harry said. "You can't be."

"Did we not discuss in our last meeting that I wasn't a figure of your imagination?"

Harry had forgotten about that. "Well, what else could you be?"

"A Wizard," Tom said again.

"So, you're real then?"

"Understand, Harry, that even dreams are real on some level," Tom stated, a smile curling on his lips once more, "they wouldn't exist even in our imagination otherwise… But to answer your question: yes, I am real."

Harry wondered somewhere in the back of his mind why Tom was more talkative than he had been before. The more they met, the more able to answer questions Tom seemed…

"So, if you're real," Harry said slowly, "why do you only appear in these 'dreams'?"

Tom only stared for a minute, before taking a deep intake of breath and sitting up in his chair a little. "I don't feel as though the time is right for me to tell you that…"

"Can you tell me anything, then?" Harry asked, annoyed by this point.

"Why, certainly," Tom said. "I can tell you that I choose to initiate our meetings when you're sleeping only to ensure that you are able to actually converse with me. I can tell you that I've waited a very long time to talk to you, yet I wasn't quite sure when, how, or if I should talk to you at all. I can also tell you that – despite the absurdity of the claim – I have seen much of your childhood and general life leading up to this point."

"What, you've been here in my head?" Harry asked quickly.

"Not quite…"

Tom didn't elaborate.

Harry supposed this wouldn't make sense anyway; Tom would have known how he was feeling about Ron and Hermione not listening to him if Tom somehow lived completely in his head. He wasn't sure why he thought of it, as he wondered what Tom's answer could mean.

"So, you've seen my entire life?" Harry asked, trying to suss out how it was possible that Tom knew about his childhood and so on.

"Parts of it, yes," Tom assessed.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I've visited you," Tom explained. He took a moment to think about this before carrying on. "I wandered often, but I always returned to you eventually, to make sure you still lived decently enough."

"So, you're saying you've been with me my entire life, checking up on me again only every so often?"

"Quite."

Harry didn't believe it. "How haven't I noticed you?"

"I've aged with you," Tom responded, appearing unfazed. "When you were seven years old and enduring a dull Muggle primary school, I was seven too, blending in with a crowd of school children and watching you from afar. I never made it obvious and nor did I attempt to communicate with you."

"Then why were you there?"

"I tried to leave," Tom admitted idly, "yet at such a young age, even if others had noticed me I wouldn't have had much of a chance at getting anywhere useful. I spent my time observing people – mostly Witches and Wizards, as opposed to Muggles – as well as looking after you when I got bored of that."

"What do you mean by 'looking after' me?"

"I mean the obvious," Tom said. "At a mundane Muggle school where you were often bullied by your cousin, I couldn't help but often return to you, to help you when you were in danger… Helping you onto roofs and so on, to hide from it all."

"That was just me using magic as a kid," Harry said, sure of his own words. "You can't have done everything for me."

"I didn't help you often, admittedly," Tom assessed, "though you have me to thank for levitating you on that roof." He smiled. "You would have remembered it more clearly had you done it yourself. Though I helped you only occasionally, it's still proof that I existed then."

Harry still wasn't completely convinced. He felt as though he would have known about this long ago if it were really true. He decided to keep asking questions. "So, you're saying you've been stalking me for our whole lives?"

"I've been watching you from afar since your birth," Tom said. "I, however, have not spent my whole life doing this."

"So, you're saying you're older than this?"

"In a sense."

"Then how are we the same age?"

Tom took a moment to word his response. "I am an ageless being," he informed Harry carefully. "To put it simply, I don't actually own a body, thus I have no set age."

"Are you saying you're a ghost?"

Tom cracked an empty smile. "Sometimes I feel as though I am," he said. "I am not, however. I have more power than a ghost yet less ability than a normal human, with a normal human body."

"Is that why you appear in these 'dreams', then?"

"It's why I favour dreams, yes."

"How did you help me with magic if you don't have a body?"

"Simple," Tom said, "we share magic."

This only confused Harry. "We share magic?"

"Yes. As in, when one of us uses magic, we take it from the same source. This, perhaps, explains why you are marginally more powerful than other Witches and Wizards your age; because of my contribution."

"Right…"

Harry felt as though this was thievery on Riddle's part, more than anything. He didn't understand how two Wizards could share magic and he couldn't place how it was possible that Riddle could have lived with him for his entire life. The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed that this was just a very realistic yet completely fake dream.

"Do you not believe me?" Tom inquired quietly into the silence, interrupting Harry's thoughts. He had been watching Harry in the firelight, never taking his eyes away.

Harry wished he wouldn't stare. He didn't want a repeat of his last dream in any way, but Tom's gaze was unwavering. He was glad that their chairs separated them so much. He didn't know what to say to this and he didn't see why he should believe any of Tom's words anyway.

"It's fine if you don't believe me," Tom said. "It's of no concern to me. I thought it merely courteous to explain these things to you, even if you are as of yet unable to believe –"

Harry heard footsteps and turned to see who it was. The room was dark, but suddenly the temperature was different and Harry was no longer sitting by the fire with Tom. He was no longer in the Riddle House, but was back in the Gryffindor Dormitories instead. Ron's face was appeared from the looming darkness.

"Are you alright?" Ron asked. He didn't sound particularly concerned.

"I'm fine," Harry responded, still dazed by the sudden change of scene.

"Sorry I woke you," Ron said, "I only just finished talking to Hermione."

"No, it's fine."

"Well, goodnight then."

"Goodnight…"

Harry lay awake for a while, thinking about what Tom had said to him before he awoke. When he felt asleep he didn't dream about Riddle again so vividly… even if his curious mind did ask after the other Wizard quite keenly in wonder.

* * *

**Dear Readers: **It's been so long since I wrote for this story! I'll update more often from now on - I promise.

Thanks for all the lovely, encouraging reviews, dear readers.

xx


	5. Distrust

"Hello, Harry."

Harry spun around at the sound of his name. Having been previously distracted while he observed the large array of ornaments, objects, and antiques that surrounded him, he had neither seen nor heard Riddle arrive. The antiques were thoughtlessly piled upon innumerable tables, desks and general surfaces, but what drew Harry's attention to them was not their value nor their charm, but rather their complete and utter detail…

"Hello," Harry responded.

He was still drawn to the objects around him, despite the fact that Riddle arriving here should really interest him more, he thought. Although he had only ever seen Hepzibah Smith's house in the memory that Dumbledore had showed him in the past, Harry could tell that this was not real life as he examined the room now. There was still that slight notion that something, somehow, was a little off. The house was too empty, too silent, and too calm to be anything more than yet another very vivid dream…

"Why'd you bring me here?" Harry asked, the idea bothering him too much for him to resist asking.

Tom, who was standing near him now due to having made his way slowly across the room with skill and ease, reacted to this question with gentle surprise. "I thought you didn't mind visiting me occasionally?"

"I'd prefer it if I had the choice."

"You had a choice, in a sense," Riddle reasoned quietly. "You merely needed someone to talk to again… Shall we sit?"

"I have friends for when I want to talk to someone," Harry said, taking an armchair opposite Riddle after a pause. It was the same chair that Hepzibah had sat in during the memory Harry had seen. "I don't see why you wanted to drag me all the way here just to talk to you."

"I assure you, it's as much your choice as anything."

Harry didn't know what to make of this claim. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Tom, however, didn't leave him much room to dwell upon it.

"I was planning on bringing you here earlier," Tom said calmly, "though my desire to do so was thwarted somewhat by a prior conflict…"

Tom sat formally in his chair, quiet now as he allowed these words to settle in. Clasping his hands upon his lap, he was paying Harry his full attention.

"Now, I wonder… why is it that a sixth year student would stay up so late on a Monday night that they would be almost completely unable to attend school the following morning? You wouldn't have had much homework, so there was no need to stay up for that…"

Harry didn't know what he was supposed to say to this. He shifted in his seat, stalling for time. "Sixth years always end up staying up late, don't they?"

"Some do, I suppose," Tom agreed slowly, "yet I do believe that staying up until three or four in the morning is quite unusual for a student to do when there is neither work nor a celebration to dedicate oneself to."

"I suppose…"

Tom seemed to see something in his lack of verbal response. "Is there anything bothering you?"

"No, not really."

"Then why have you been staying up?"

"I dunno," Harry said, feeling uncomfortable as he wondered whether Tom knew the answer to this anyway. "I've just had a lot to think about lately, I suppose."

Tom continued watching Harry, impassive. "Which is understandable…"

A silence fell. Harry was confused by it.

"Is that it?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Aren't you going to keep asking me questions?"

Tom tilted his head to the side slightly. "Do you wish for me to?"

"No," Harry admitted, "but I don't see why else you'd force me to be here."

"I've said it before, Harry: you are free to go whenever you wish."

Harry was reminded again about how similar to a therapist Tom seemed to act during these so-called 'meetings'. He wondered whether Tom meant to seem this way, whether he took pride in thinking of himself as Harry's adviser, or whether he was completely unaware about the way he was acting.

"Why am I even here?" Harry's voice was sharp yet weary.

"Again, Harry, you needed someone to talk to."

Harry's jaw clenched. For the second time tonight, he said forcefully, "I have friends for that, thanks."

Tom remained mute while he thought about this. It was as though Harry's actions had given away something he found curious. His voice was quiet when he spoke again.

"Do you?"

Harry stared at Riddle steadily, bemused. Of course he had his friends – he had always had them to talk to. Even if they were a little more distant now, it was only because there were so many things going on at once in and out of Hogwarts. Harry didn't know whether to hold onto his anger or to let it go while he contemplated what Tom was implying… somehow, he sort of had a point…

"I do have them," said Harry firmly. He felt as though he was saying this to himself as much as to Tom.

"You're there for your friends, sure," Tom voiced after little hesitation, "when they're fighting with each other or worrying about mundane things such as Quidditch, or relationships, or a test that will have no affect upon later school results anyway… but are they there for you when you have a difficult, unexplainable, deeply worrying problem?"

Harry was nervous now. "I don't know why you're saying this."

"I'm saying it because it is true."

"They're my best friends," Harry reasoned.

"Which is hardly a consolation," Tom added.

Harry fell silent. He was now far from annoyed. Harry couldn't help but agree with Tom in some sickening way, but he would barely admit it even to himself… It wasn't as though Ron and Hermione should really care that Harry was just having particularly vivid dreams, after all. Even the fact that that Harry suspected Malfoy was a Death Eater while Ron and Hermione wouldn't hear a word of it was excusable, surely…

"I don't mean this to offend you," Tom mentioned eventually.

Harry wondered whether something in his expression had given him away. He said nothing.

"You can talk to me, you know," Tom told him.

"I'll keep that in mind…"

"It might make you feel better."

Harry doubted that, somehow. "Right…"

Another moment passed without speech. Harry realised in that time that it could be hours until he was finally away from Tom. He didn't have any power over these dreams, which would mean that Tom could wait patiently to get the information he desired. Harry decided to keep on talking.

"I don't see why these dre-… _meetings_ have to planned by you."

A smile crept upon Tom's lips, slowly, carefully.

"If you wish to initiate such meetings," he said, "I'd be more than happy to allow you to do so. Assuming, of course, that you understand the magic involved…"

"That's not what I meant," Harry said.

"Whatever did you mean, then?"

"I meant I don't understand how you know when I need someone to talk to."

"Well, it's obvious," Tom said, "by seeing the way your friends act, anyone would feel isolated in your position."

"Why don't you try and speak to me every night then?"

"I know you wouldn't wish to be bothered by me so much. I understood this when you started sleeping less…"

Although this sounded rather considerate, Harry wasn't completely convinced. If Tom wanted to be polite he could have just stopped these meetings entirely, leaving Harry to sleep decently again, so he could stop wondering what all of this meant.

"You still could have sent an invitation," Harry joked.

Tom frowned. "Has it not occurred to you that I might wish to speak to you, instead?"

The true answer to this was no, Harry hadn't thought of that… "Why would you want to speak to me?" he asked instead. "I'm pretty sure you wouldn't have any friend problems to talk about."

"No friend problems, no." Tom smiled mechanically. "Though there is much that I wish to speak to you about."

"Like what?"

"Ah, but I don't feel as though the time is right for talking about my problems."

"Right…"

"First," Tom continued, unfazed by Harry's reaction to his previous words, "we should sort out what it is that's wrong with your friendship."

"There's nothing wrong with my friendship," Harry said defensively. "Ron, Hermione and I have been friends for years now. They just don't understand this – yet."

"So you will explain it to them?" Tom inquired, mildly surprised.

"Yeah, I will."

"You'll explain the things that I have said to you?"

"Of course, yeah."

"You'll explain what I said about having been around you throughout your entire childhood and current adolescence?"

"If that comes up, then yes."

"And what I said about having helped you? About us sharing magic?"

"Yeah…"

"You'll explain to them," Tom continued in a softer voice, "that I kissed your hand?"

Harry stopped at this. This was the first time Tom had mentioned his actions in the 'dream' of Number 12, Grimmauld Place and Harry wasn't sure if he really wanted to talk about it. He bit his lips…

"They would think you mad if you told them about me," Tom voiced.

"They're my friends," Harry said again, warily, "they'd understand."

"Ask them and see."

This remark annoyed Harry, somehow. "I will. They'll be able to–"

"_Potter!_"

Harry eyes flew open. Someone was pushing his shoulder to awaken him and he realised after a moment of confusion that it was Ron, who was sitting besides him. Both Ron and Hermione were casting him very worried warning looks. He sat up straighter in his chair.

Snape was standing right in front of his desk.

"Well, well," Snape began irritably when Harry met his dark, narrowed eyes, "it would appear as though Potter considers himself above learning Defence Against the Dark Arts…"

"Sir, I only–"

"Tell me, has your imperishable sense of self-worth, triggered by the title of '_The Chosen One'_, blinded you greatly that you no longer feel a need to learn how to defend yourself against the vast power of the Dark Arts, Potter?"

"No, sir, I just–"

"Because if not," Snape said in a slightly louder voice, "and if you wish to stand a chance defending yourself even against the weakest of wizards, you would be well-advised to _stay awake,_ during my class."

Harry clenched his jaw shut, not trusting himself to say a word at this. He refused to break eye contact even while Snape's lip curled in annoyance.

"Detention," Snape spat, "Saturday evening, my office. A few hours away from needless distraction ought to remind you, Potter, of the importance of time. Pray you won't fall further behind on your studies."

Snape turned away sharply at this. This wasn't the worst lecture that Harry had endured from the Professor, but he still didn't much appreciate the idea that he would be put into detention yet again. He was surprised, however, that Snape hadn't taken this chance to take more House Points away from Gryffindor. Harry felt as though he should consider himself lucky…

For the rest of the lesson he attempted to look as awake as he could while he battled with his exasperation, ignoring the reproachful glances from Hermione, as well as the awkward glances from Ron. To him, the class couldn't end fast enough.

"I can't believe you would do such a thing!" Hermione hissed at him the moment they stepped out of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. "During Snape's lesson, moreover!"

"It's not my fault," Harry said defensively, not caring that this was partially a lie. "With all the homework that's been assigned–"

"You told me you finished your homework on time!" Hermione reminded him furiously. "You could have asked me for help if you needed it, Harry – even Ron doesn't end up falling asleep during classes!"

"What?" Ron squawked.

"Well it won't happen again," Harry stated, while both he and Hermione ignored the offended Ron. "I'll have enough lecturing from Snape already, won't you just drop it?"

She glared at him, outraged. "I'm trying to help you!"

"Well I don't want your help," Harry told her. "If all you're going to do is yell at me for doing something I couldn't help doing, I don't want your advice, Hermione."

"Fine!" she exclaimed, flushed somewhat while she glowered at Harry. Her eyes were shining. "God forbid I try and help you!"

Seeing her look of indignation suddenly triggered guilt in Harry. She turned to go.

"Hermione, wait–"

But she was already gone. Harry watched her disappearing off into a crowd, feeling bad while he reflected that she had only lectured him because she was scared for him, probably. It didn't help that they hadn't been talking very much lately.

Ron stood by Harry awkwardly, his hands in his pockets while his eyes searched for the lost Hermione in the flood of students before them. Harry could tell he was in half a mind to follow her, despite the fact she had partially insulted him.

"You need some more sleep, mate," was the first thing Ron said.

Harry shifted where he stood, agitated now. He wanted to tell Ron that he felt bad for shouting at Hermione, but he couldn't bring himself to speak those words. He was annoyed with himself, uncomfortable, and tired. He took a deep breath to try and sooth himself.

"Lets get going," he said in a low voice. "The last thing I need today is to miss more lessons…"

–X–

The following night was rather uncomfortable. Hermione was avoiding Harry and had decided to spend most of the evening in the girls' dormitory. Ron had decided to stick with Harry after all, but Harry knew this was likely only because Ron didn't want to listen to Hermione rant anymore. She had spent a lot of time before this wondering aloud about why Harry was so distant, so it was only to be assumed that Harry arguing with her would start a whole series of new complains and worries.

Harry couldn't help but reflect that he probably wasn't much better company, however. He sat in near silence while he did his homework, only talking to Ron a few times in failed attempts to start light conversation throughout the evening. Ron sighed and yawned more than he spoke, so that night Harry decided to go to bed very early, saying he wanted to catch up on some sleep.

Wednesday night was even worse. Hermione had decided to sit with Harry and Ron again while they did their homework, but although she offered to help Harry with his studies, she barely said a word to him that didn't have an edge of spite and disapproval to it. Harry wasn't really sure why she had decided to join the two of them at all.

It was after finishing all his homework for the night when Harry sat uncomfortably in his usual seat in the Common Room, suddenly wishing he had something else to do. He knew this was a good time to begin talking to Ron and Hermione about some of the things that were bothering him, but he simply didn't know where to begin. Eventually, however, he found that he didn't need to bring up the subject bluntly.

"Promise me you'll go to sleep at a reasonable hour tonight, won't you?" Hermione asked of him.

"I'll try," Harry answered. His voice was somewhat monotonic.

"Do you promise?"

"I can't promise you that I'll be able to fall asleep, Hermione," Harry responded, thinking this was obvious, "but I'll try."

"You can't keep falling asleep in class like that," Hermione reminded him firmly.

"I'm not going to," Harry said, "I just had one bad night of sleep, alright?"

"No, it's not alright!" she said irritably. "You can't let something like that happen, Harry!"

Harry looked away from her, trying very hard to overcome the annoyance that flooded though him at these words. He didn't understand why she didn't just drop it… "It won't happen again."

"Why were you even up so late on a Monday night? I know perfectly well you weren't busy doing homework."

This was Harry's chance to bring the conversation to the topic of those 'dreams', he knew. Somehow, however, knowing this didn't make it much easier. "I – I was just worried about something…"

His tone struck interest in Hermione, but it still wasn't enough to completely override her previous disapproval. "What were you worried about?"

"Was it something to do with Malfoy?" asked Ron. "I saw you looking at the Marauder's Map again."

"No, nothing's changed with Malfoy," Harry admitted, "not since Dobby and Kreacher told us about the Room of Requirement."

"Did you have another odd dream, then?" Hermione asked.

"To be honest… yeah," Harry admitted slowly. "Yeah, it is about those dreams."

Hermione looked as though she wanted so sigh and remind Harry that it wasn't anything to worry about, but this time she stopped herself. Sitting up a little straighter, she asked wearily, "What happened this time?"

"Well," Harry began nervously, worried she wouldn't understand, "nothing ever really happens, to be honest. It's mostly just conversation in a different place each time… The dream I had on Monday night was in the Riddle House. Except, it wasn't like I had seen it ever before… It looked a bit more neglected, like it might look right now."

Ron raised his eyebrows.

"I don't know," Harry said in a rush, "where we were wasn't important, anyway… It was just the same as the other dreams. It was – it was like I was actually there, I don't know how else to explain it. I know I can't have been and I know it wasn't a vision, but… I can't help but feel it was real."

Hermione was looking at him blankly.

"But anyway, what we were talking about was the important part."

"And what where you talking about?"

Harry was about to speak, but he stopped himself. What was he supposed to say? That Riddle said he had been around Harry for his entire life, and Harry believed it? That he knew the dreams meant something more, or that he sensed they weren't dreams at all? That he was telling Tom Riddle about himself when he still wasn't sure whether he even should?

"Well?" Hermione pressed.

Harry had to say something. He wasn't going to prove Riddle right by being unable to talk to his friends. He wasn't going to just sit here in silence when Ron and Hermione needed to know why he was acting so strangely. Even if Harry couldn't tell them everything, he forced himself to say something, at least.

"It's all sort of… sort of a bit creepy," he began. "The things Riddle says don't make sense and he never explains anything properly, but what he explains sort of… fits sometimes… I don't know, I can't explain it. I can't leave the 'dreams' even when I want to. He's the one who starts them and he won't let me go, he just tells me all these mad things, thinking I'll believe it."

"You're talking like Riddle's a real person," said Ron, bemused.

Hermione glanced at him briefly.

"I didn't mean it to sound that way," Harry said quickly.

"None of that explains why you spend so much time talking and worrying about these dreams," Hermione observed. "Quite honestly, I don't know what you mean by it all."

"I don't mean anything by it," said Harry, confused. "I just don't know why it keeps happening. The dreams are all connected – it's like he actually remembers the other meetings, like he knows what's been happening in my life, and he–"

"But they're just dreams!" Hermione exclaimed, finally losing patience. Harry wondered whether his words had scared her, somehow. "You can't fall behind on your work and become so wrapped up in your own mind because of this. It's completely senseless!"

"You don't understand, these aren't just normal d–"

"You're wasting time with this, Harry," said Hermione seriously. "You should just put it out of your mind."

Harry's heart sunk. She was completely unable and unwilling to understand what he was saying. He hadn't even told her anything bad, but here she was now, visibly believing that he was insane, delusional, and wasting time. _"They would think you mad if you told them about me,"_ Tom had predicted…

"Hermione's sort of right you know," Ron said slowly, "it seems a bit useless to worry about this."

Hermione turned to Ron, satisfied. "Thank you, Ronald."

Harry said nothing, while he watched Ron smiled a little at Hermione.

Harry knew that Ron had probably only said this to please Hermione, but that didn't make it much easier to hear. It made Harry think about how much Hermione and Ron already liked each other. Although he didn't fancy Hermione (nor Ron, for that matter), it saddened Harry to reflect that his friends would probably end up dating each other soon. If they did, he knew they were going to get sick of him. They wouldn't have any time for him, especially if he worried about things like Riddle, which they couldn't seem to understand…

"It'd be best to stop thinking about these dreams so much," Hermione said, as if Ron agreeing with her had concluded the matter.

"Right," Harry said numbly, not caring to disagree by this point. If Hermione had expected him to object, she was solely wrong. Harry was no longer angry…

"That's that sorted then," said Ron, sounding content.

Harry stood up. He understood, then, that he shouldn't be here anymore.

"Well," he said tonelessly, "I think I'm going to go to bed now."

He ignored their looks of confusion. They said goodnight. Ron decided to stay in the Common Room with Hermione, which left Harry on his own. In the dormitory, Harry sat on his bed for a while, staring into space. He didn't know how he was supposed to feel. All he really knew was that Ron and Hermione were wrong about this being nothing. No matter how much he tried to think of it in a different light, Harry _knew_ it was something more than a dream. He just didn't know how, or why…

Eventually Harry found the energy to get changed. He ended up lying in bed for a long while, just thinking, until he finally closed his eyes properly…

The Gaunt House was cold and dirtier than ever before. Harry stood shivering, his arms folded tightly in front of him while he examined the place, looking past the cloud of vapour that emitted from his mouth every time he exhaled. The place was different than in the Pensieve only because a door leading off of the main room stood wide open, its lock and handle charred as if it had been cursed. Nothing but darkness could be seen beyond the doorframe.

The only light in the room was coming from an old, rusty lantern that Tom was holding. While he stood to the side of the room, facing Harry, the lantern cast long shadows with its flickering yellow light. This did nothing to stop the house feeling shadowy, grimy, and abandoned. Harry couldn't imagine why Tom would bring him to such a dreary place.

"From your air of forlornness," Tom began in a soft voice, "I assume it didn't go well with your friends?"

Harry wondered if his expression or his lack of talking had given this away. He didn't know how he was supposed to tell Riddle that it had all gone wrong. The house was perfectly still; the only noise that could be heard beyond the sound of Harry's breath was howling of the harsh winds outside, which pressed against the small, cracked windows.

"They… they just don't get it."

Tom watched him for a time. His tone was carefully chosen when he told Harry, "I suspected they might not understand."

"I don't see why they wouldn't," said Harry. "They're treating me like I'm just making this all up…"

"Perhaps they're merely confused?"

"How would they be?"

"Well, it really depends upon how much you told them. With too much information to take in, they could easily get confused about what to think."

"I didn't tell them too much," Harry responded. He found himself slightly annoyed while he realised Tom was trying to get information out of him slyly. "I'm not stupid, I wouldn't tell them everything at once."

"I didn't mean to imply you acted foolishly," Tom said, "I was merely suggesting what might have gone wrong. If it wasn't that, there must be another reason."

"Like what?"

"Perhaps they believe you to be a liar?"

"Why would they think that? I don't have any reason to lie. Plus, they've always believed me in the past, no matter how mad I must have sounded with some of the things I told them."

"Perhaps they no longer trust your judgement?" Tom suggested. "Perhaps they don't believe you are lying, but instead they believe you are mistaken?"

This made sense… No matter how much Harry didn't like to hear it, it fitted. Though if this was what Ron and Hermione really felt, by extent they probably thought Harry was going mad. No matter what he said to them now, if they didn't trust his judgement they were never going to believe him… Harry had to make sure first.

"Why would they stop trusting my judgement?"

"Hmm, there could quite be a few reasons," Tom said softly, the sight of contemplation soft upon his fine features. "A particular event could have happened in the recent past; an event that caused your friends to suddenly wonder, in theory, if stress had become too much for you… For example, they could have been a little _too_ alarmed by you suspecting an enemy at Hogwarts of being a young Death Eater…"

These words took Harry by surprise. This was the first time Tom had ever indicated that he knew about the more recent events in Harry's life, even if he had suggested before that he had seen a large percentage of Harry's childhood. Somehow, Harry was a little relieved by this. He would have a second opinion upon the events in his life without having to explain all the details from scratch…

"You know about Malfoy, then?"

Tom inclined his head softly in agreement.

"Do you know anything new?" Harry pressed, the thought just striking him. "Do you know what he's up to?"

"I know nothing more than you do, Harry."

"But if you've been around me, like you were in my childhood, surely you could have followed Malfoy, to see what he's up to?"

"I was under the impression you had House-elves for that?"

"I do, but you would be better than them – you could use more magic to get to him."

Tom thought about this, considering it carefully. "It certainly is possible…"

"You'll do it, then?"

"I'll see what I can do."

Harry grinned. "Brilliant."

Tom watched his smile for a moment, as if he was again taking some sort of meaning from the simple reaction. "I do believe we are off subject, however," he commented.

Harry had to think back to what they were talking about. "But why would Ron and Hermione stop trusting me because I suspect Malfoy's a Death Eater?"

"As I said, this could be one of many reasons," Tom explained. "Another reason might be that they are alarmed by the idea my existence. They might be so alarmed, in fact, that they refuse to acknowledge nor encourage the idea of me, even if you are sure about it."

"Why would they be so scared of you, and these dreams?"

"Well, I thought the answer to that should be obvious…"

Harry shook his head. "You aren't Voldemort."

"I know," agreed Tom, "yet your friends can see it no other way, it seems."

Did this mean he could never tell Ron and Hermione about Riddle and so on, Harry wondered? Would he have to keep it entirely to himself, in the knowledge that they would only see it as something impossible, scary, or insane? Harry had always told them about everything that worried or confused him, so how was he now expected to just stop confiding in them?

"There has to be a way they'd understand," Harry said, believing his words were true. "They've always understood me in the past."

"Perhaps there is a way… yet it seems more likely that something has changed, now."

Harry had to admit that lot had changed in his sixth year at Hogwarts so far… but he wasn't quite willing to agree with Riddle completely.

"If I could just keep telling them about it, maybe they'd finally see there's really something different about this," Harry said instead. "Maybe they'd actually be willing to listen, and maybe they'd understand."

Then again, Harry thought, would they even want to hear it? If Tom was right in saying that they were denying the idea of these dreams meaning anything due to fear, they wouldn't be happy if Harry kept bringing it up again and again…

"That's a lot of 'maybe's," Tom observed.

"I know," Harry admitted, "but it's just…"

"Yes?"

"I just wish they'd listen."

Tom was silent. He watched Harry, his expression almost completely unreadable. Though Harry thought he read understanding in Tom, somehow.

"I just worry about if they care about each other too much…"

The fire from the lantern that Tom held flickered back and forth. "How would they?"

"Well, it's obvious that they fancy each other," Harry voiced, "Everyone suspects it. It's only a matter of time before they start dating. Before they start cutting me out…"

Tom thought about this. Then, slowly, he began taking smooth steps towards Harry. There was a considerable gap between them, with two chairs setting them apart. Tom evidently felt it would be wise to lessen this.

"They are no friends at all if they will neglect you for a love interest," Tom said softly, his eyes never leaving Harry even as he wandered towards him. "Despite how strongly they may claim that they crave each other, true devotion in friendship will never burn away, no matter how heated the flame of their love might be…"

Tom was closer to Harry now, only a few feet away…

"They already care about me less than they used to," said Harry, somewhat despondently. "If this is what they're like even before they're dating…"

"Then they are no friends of yours."

Tom had stopped. He stood rather close to Harry, gazing at him from a little under a foot away. He breathed evenly while he examined the wizard before him, viewing every feature upon Harry's face as though he were an interesting work of art. He smiled softly, before turning away.

"Goodnight, Harry."

Before Harry could say a word, Tom began walking out of the room. He was gone shortly, along with all of the light. In the darkness, Harry found himself drifting off to sleep within seconds, no longer standing in the House of Gaunt…

* * *

I hope you enjoyed the new chapter! Sorry I'm still slow.

Also, I started my own Blog about Writing (if anyone cares ha-ha), at AbidingRomances 'dot' Blogspot 'dot' com.

( Like most people, I was delayed a further few days with this chapter due to this site acting weirdly, not allowing updates. I managed to find a solution now, however. )


	6. The Restricted Section

06 - The Restricted Section

Harry was walking down a long, narrow path. It coiled, crammed between uneven walls that towered over him before fading into the darkness above. He was walking slowly, far from in a rush. Although he had no idea where he was, he was heading towards a light that he could just about make out at the end of the winding path. If he had asked himself how he got here, Harry would have no satisfactory answer to give, for all he could remember was that he had emerged from blackness to find himself here, heading towards this faint light.

He felt very calm, as though the sight of room full of objects held great comfort for him. He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that he had no idea where he was, but the thought didn't seem important enough for him to register fully. It was irrelevant, because all that mattered in his blissful state of calmness was that he should follow the light up ahead. It was curious, it was the only reason he was here at all.

The end of the path was nearing. His surroundings became clearer in the light, making it feel more real than ever. Harry could see various objects crammed onto tall shelves around him, he could see he was standing in an arched room. Towards the direction of the light, a faint sound could be heard. It was a mumbling voice, accompanied by the rustling of book pages and the occasional frustrated groan. Harry was standing in an intersection of various paths cutting through the clutter. He ambled closer to the light and noise, intent upon finding out more about it.

The sound of footsteps falling only slightly faster than Harry's own came into notice. Harry turned around, feeling no fear because of his state of tranquillity.

"_Hello Harry,_" Tom greeted, unable to hide his smile. "_How nice it is that you could join me this evening._"

"_Hey,_" Harry responded vaguely. He felt as though he was supposed to be tired, yet couldn't feel it. "_Why're we here?_"

"_There's something I would like to show you... Carry on walking._"

Harry did as Tom suggested; curiosity was drawing his mind back to the light.

At a closer view, he could just about make out the silhouette of someone standing between Harry and a lantern, facing a tall piece of furniture. A few steps onwards, Harry could see it was a wizard working on something, wand held aloft, Hogwarts School robes visible. He was mumbling incantations, showing deep stress in the way he spoke and the way he held himself. At the sight of his sleek blond hair pushed back (many pieces of it slipping down carelessly by this point), Harry registered that it looked like Draco Malfoy.

The sight shocked him, forcing him to stop walking. The dreamy feeling of calmness vanished in a second, leaving him watch in utter confusion as Malfoy continued, uninterrupted, to work upon the complex magic he was preforming. Draco withered in frustration and fear as he repeated the names of spells over and over again, continuing to face the cupboard in front of him. He kept running his shaking fingers through his currently sweaty and greasy hair, pushing back the strands that fell down from the rest, obscuring his vision. He had an expression of utter strain twisted onto his face. What forced Harry most of all to break away from his calmness was to see that Draco was close to tears.

There was nothing obvious to suggest what Draco was doing. It looked as though he was trying to mend a cabinet with magic, but Harry couldn't think why. Draco had loosened the collar of his robes, had rolled up his sleeves to try and help how sweaty he was becoming in annoyance and sorrow. He kept muttering to himself between his spells, cursing about it all when he seemingly failed repetitively to fix this piece of furniture.

"_What's he doing?_"

Tom gave no answer. He stood next to Harry, watching Malfoy with shared interest.

"_This must be where he goes... It explains why he looks so ill. But, why?_"

He turned to look at Tom when again no answer was given.

"_Can't you at least tell me where we are?_" Harry asked.

"_You never asked before_."

"_Well, I'm asking now._"

The light from the lantern next to Malfoy flickered sharp, varying shadows across Tom's face, yet it did nothing to stop his handsomeness. "_We're at Hogwarts._"

This confused Harry. "_I've never been in here before._"

"_Yes you have,_" Tom informed him quietly. _"The room merely changed it's form._"

Then, quite suddenly, it made sense to Harry. "_This must be what the Room of Requirement turns into for Malfoy!_"

A smile crept upon Tom's lips. "_Indeed, it is._"

Harry beamed. "_This is brilliant!_"

"_I'm glad you think so._"

"_So whatever he's doing,_" Harry carried on, overjoyed and excited at the whole idea of being here, "_that must be why he's been acting so oddly this year, it must be what all of this is about. I can't believe you found a way in, Tom!_"

"_It wasn't difficult, after following him._"

"_I can't believe this..._" Harry stepped closer to Malfoy in awe, being careful not to make any noise. He had caught onto the idea that he wasn't supposed to be heard. There was no other reason for the both of them to use Parseltongue like this, after all. Harry had only noticed they weren't speaking English when he thought about Malfoy hearing them; he had followed Tom's use of language without thought or struggle. "_What's he doing?_"

"_He appears to be fixing a cupboard,_" Tom said dryly.

Harry let out a breath of laughter, finding this very amusing in his happiness. "_But why?_"

"_That I don't know._"

This part didn't make sense to Harry. Malfoy continued to work on his spells, skipping through pages upon pages of books in an attempt to find more magic to try, Harry supposed. But why would Malfoy be spending so much time and energy fixing up an old cupboard? Why did he need Crabbe and Goyle to go to such lengths to protect the corridors around Room of Requirement for him to do this, why was he becoming so ill so quickly while he threw away all his usual activities in the school to come here so often?

"_I do, however,_" Tom continued, "_know that upon his arm is something that will be of more interest – more meaning – to you at this time..._"

Harry's eyes dropped to Malfoy's rolled-up sleeves. He nearly gasped in shock; there, etched deeply into his bare forearm, lay a blackened image. It rose the surface of skin beneath it to give even more shadow and definition to it's shape, only adding to the eerily life-like appearance of the skull. With gaping eye sockets and a snake entwined through it, and through the widened mouth that engulfed it, the Dark Mark upon Draco's arm looked identical to so many others Harry had seen.

"_He's a Death Eater..._" Harry was barely able to believe it even as he said this. "_I knew he had to be – I knew I wasn't wrong! Ron and Hermione never believed me, they never thought Draco was capable of – of..._"

"_Of working for Voldemort,_" Tom finished quietly.

Harry tore his eyes away from Draco. As he looked at Tom, he wasn't sure what he should and shouldn't say.

"_Rather, he appears to be following Voldemort's orders,_" Tom added after a moment. "_This doesn't yet mean Malfoy is working for him, necessarily."_

"_You say 'him'... so, you don't consider yourself the same as Voldemort, then?_"

Tom turned to face him. Harry couldn't read his expression. "_I am not the Voldemort you've learnt about since your years of understanding the wizarding world, Harry. He and I are different._"

Somehow, Harry was glad to hear this. He was in half a mind to ask why they were different, but Tom turned back to Malfoy with an air that suggested this settled the whole matter, so Harry fell silent. His mind was full of thoughts about Malfoy in an instant.

"_I recognise that cupboard..._"

"_Do you?_"

"_Yeah, there was one that looked like it at Borgin and Burkes – I remember it because Malfoy was there, asking about it._"

Tom thought about this. "_Do you think the two items might have a connection?_"

"_Well, it can hardly be coincidence,_" Harry reasoned. "_Why else would he be here fixing this cupboard, after asking about the other one?_"

"_Perhaps he has an unstoppable passion for furnishing._"

Harry smiled at the joke, being careful not to laugh.

"_On a serious note, however,_" Tom said, "_whatever it is that Voldemort has asked Malfoy to complete, it wouldn't appear as though he's having much success._"

"_Yeah..._" The look on Malfoy's face suggested Tom was indeed right.

Harry felt a sense of relief at thinking that Voldemort's request wasn't going well, but he was reluctant to hate Draco at this moment. Despite the fact he was blatantly a Death Eater doing some sort of task for Voldemort, the expression he showed in what he trusted was solitude made it clear how he was feeling inside. It flooded Harry with pity that he couldn't quite shake off; he could see this was torture for him. Harry knew Voldemort must be threatening him, threatening his family...

"_You aren't happy..._"

Tom had spoken these words with such confusion, it immediately caught Harry's attention. He had his head tilted slightly to one side as he stared at Harry with red eyes.

"_Does this not please you?_" Tom asked.

The was a moment of silence. Then, understanding, Harry explained, "_I'm not disappointed in what you're showing me – not at all. It's just, I'm worried about what Malfoy's up to_."

Tom lifted his head slowly back up into it's normal position, never dropping his gaze. "_Are you still glad I brought you here?_"

"_Yeah, I'm still glad,_" Harry told him, trying to hide his slight confusion. "_I've been looking for this place, and for Draco, for months. It's really brilliant._"

After a moment, Tom inclined his head slowly, as if to express that this was now understood.

Harry had no idea why it would matter to Tom weather he was happy to see this. It made him wonder if perhaps Tom had brought him here as a sort of present, rather than just to help him understand what Malfoy was up to. Tom might have believed that Harry would truly feel joy being here, meaning that in a twisted sort of way this was Tom's attempt to make Harry happy.

"_I don't know how you got in here,_" Harry said. "_Dobby and Kreacher couldn't find a way in even after tailing Malfoy for hours. Though, I suppose Crabbe and Goyle might have stopped them from following him all the way to the Room of Requirement..._"

"_Indeed,_" Tom agreed, "_It's difficult for even an elf to escape their notice, as dim as they seem. Their dedication to follow Draco's orders, and by extent Voldemort's, has led it to become harder for anyone to catch Malfoy in the act of even walking to the Room of Requirement._"

Harry was a little taken aback by Tom's confident words. "_You seem to know the situation well._"

"_I wanted to make sure it was possible to access this room whilst Malfoy was working._"

It must have taken quite a bit of work for Tom to get him in here, Harry thought... Then another thought struck him. If Tom had managed to follow Draco here, he must have found a way to access this room a few minutes after Draco went inside, to be sure that he could be here without being noticed...

"_So, you must know what he wanted this room to turn into, then?_"

He hoped Tom wouldn't find his eager tone suspicious.

"_Yes,_" Tom told him, "_I know what he wanted this room to turn into._"

Harry waited, but Tom didn't elaborate upon his answer. He decided to ask, "_Can you tell me what he asked the room to be?_"

"_Why do you want to know?_"

"_It's been driving me mad for months,_" Harry explained.

Tom thought about this. "_It would be unwise for you to visit this place again, Harry._"

"_I know_," Harry said, "_but I really want to know how you got in here._"

This amused Tom, somehow. "_Well, in that case... Draco merely desired a place to hide._"

"_And that brought him here?_"

"_It did indeed._"

"_To come fix a cupboard amongst thousands of random objects?_" Harry asked in disbelief. He was beginning to think none of this was reality after all. "_I don't believe it._"

"_Initially Draco desired to hide a cabinet in this room,_" Tom said. "_I know this from overhearing a conversation between his two followers – Crabbe and Goyle, as you call them. Why it is of interest to Draco, I'm not sure, but what I do know is that whatever it may be used for, it is of great value to even the Dark Lord himself._"

It must have some terrible use then, Harry thought. The cabinet seemed so normal, so simple, that Harry honestly couldn't think how it could be used as a weapon, or as something that would interest Voldemort. Just thinking about it having a terrible use, however, made Harry see it as a suddenly ominous, scary item...

"_I do believe this is all we need to see from Mister Malfoy tonight, however,_" Tom voiced quietly.

Harry felt oddly downhearted to hear this. "_You're leaving?_"

He hadn't thought before saying it; he heard his mistake as soon as the words were out.

"_I – I mean,_" he began lamely, confused by himself, "_I don't want to go back, not yet._"

"_I was going to offer for you to accompany me to another interesting place,_" Tom said calmly."_It's good that you are eager to continue... This second location is again somewhat hidden within the castle, thus I hope it will be of some interest to you._"

Harry couldn't imagine where else at Hogwarts they might need to visit at this hour, but an odd reluctance to return back to his dreams encouraged him to agree to this. "_Where did you want to go?_"

"_Give me your arm..._" Tom took a step forwards. "_I'll show you._"

Harry stared into Tom's dark eyes, unsure. He remembered, however, that he had nowhere else he needed to be, and he most certainty didn't want to fall back into sleep again. Without a word, he took a step or two closer to Tom, linking their arms together. It felt odd being so close to Tom, touching. He was surprised to find that Tom was whole and real; he had half expected to reach out and grasp nothing but air in a vain attempt to get closer. It made him think back to Grimmauld Place, think back to Tom then...

"_Should we just leave him like this?_" Harry asked, referring to Draco who continued to whimper and whisper in desperation at his work. It was quite a sad sight...

"_He'll never know we were even here._"

Harry supposed this was true. He was distracted, however, by Tom's arm within his. Knowing they were about to travel somewhere else, he expected this to be something like Apparition, but he was mistaken. Harry was watching Tom's handsome face as the area around them faded to black. They stood for a moment, only able to see each other, before they vanished from sight too. Harry was left feeling Tom's arm within his, listening to the sound of his calm, even breath.

There was a faint flicking sound like the strike of a match: Tom was igniting a light. Everything faded into view sharply so Harry could see where they were. They were standing between two long, neat rows of shelves that were holding innumerable books behind ancient screened doors, secured with various locks and chains. The low ceiling above them gave this place the feeling of an underground tunnel, with distant breaks in the shelves where pathways crossed half-hidden in the shadows the lantern could never quite reach. Harry thought that perhaps this was just another part of the Room of Requirement, but somehow he doubted it.

"_Where are we?_"

"We're in Hogwarts' Library," Tom answered in English. "This is a deep part of the Restricted Section, it is a place where very few of Hogwarts' students ever roam."

"Why did you bring me here?" Harry asked, stepping back a little after slipping his arm out of Tom's. He felt as though he shouldn't be too close to Tom for so long.

"I thought you might appreciate the chance to visit the school's most securely kept collection of information," Tom explained softly. "For thousands of years, witches and wizards intent upon preserving a whole history of knowledge have been gathering these very books, hoping to contribute to one of the best collections of information that the wizarding world has ever seen. It is truly a fascinating assemblage."

Despite having been in the Restricted Section of the library before, Harry couldn't recall ever seeing this part of it. He wondered how deep the Restricted Section must be as he figured idly that Tom probably knew the library well. "Hermione would love this."

Tom was mildly confused. "This is a peculiar thing to mention."

"She visits the library loads," Harry explained, "she's constantly reading. Though, come to think of it she probably knows about this part anyway..."

Tom made no response. Harry was distracted momentarily by thoughts of Hermione. He felt sad to think about how these books reminded him of her, but he wasn't sure why. He felt as though he was remembering someone he had lost, but Hermione was still alive, was still at Hogwarts with him. She was still his friend, wasn't she? She was still here...

As he thought, his eyes scanned the golden lettering spelling out the titles of the books around them, but he couldn't see it properly in this light. He still wasn't really sure why he was here, because as far as he could remember he had never spoken to Tom about having an interest in reading.

"You can pick one out, if you would like to," Tom said. He had been watching Harry.

"They're all locked up," Harry pointed out. "Plus, it's not like I can take any, I'm not supposed to be here at all."

Tom extended his hand to the shelf closest to them, making an elegant sweeping motion above it. There was a muffled '_bang_' and visible sparks as the lock cracked open, appearing as undamaged as it might have been if Tom had used a key. The door to the shelf swung open.

"Choose one. It could very well be interesting."

A refusal would be rude by this point, Harry thought. He tried to decide which book looked the most interesting out of the collection in front of him, but it was difficult – they were almost all bound in identical shades of dark brown and black.

"They all look the same," Harry commented. He was still unable to read any of the titles in this light.

"What about this one?" Tom suggested.

As soon as he said it, a black book began sliding out of the shelf. Harry reached out his hands up to grasp it before it would fall.

"Take another," Tom suggested as soon as the book was in his hands, "there are many, after all."

Harry hesitated. He couldn't see why any of these books would be of interest to him, especially since he didn't even know what they were about. "I... I don't really think that I –"

There was another muffled '_crack_', then another. Tom had opened two more shelves and around three books were gliding in the air towards Harry. They began to stack themselves a neat pile, one on top of the other. Harry stood clutching the first book in his hands, staring at the others by his feet while he wondered what on earth he was supposed to do with all this. The books were quite heavy and smelt pungent with age.

"What are these about?" Harry asked slowly. Judging from the eagerness Tom showed to try and get him to read all of this by his selection, he was beginning to fear that this wasn't just an innocent trip to the library that Tom thought would be interesting.

"There are a variety of subjects to be found written about in the Restricted Section, of course," Tom responded.

Harry was suspicious. It hadn't slipped his notice that this was a pretty vague answer to a direct question. Looking back down at the books, Harry idly ran his fingers over the one in his hands. There was an odd sort of design upon it, making it darker in some places. It was clear now that Tom had had brought him here for a bad reason...

Without asking again, Harry opened the book. As he skimmed through the first few pages it looked normal, to his relief, but it was only a matter of seconds before he reached far enough into it to see it was far from an innocent read. Descriptions and illustrations on various pieces of Dark Magic filled the pages, interrupted by long instructions on how to learn the magic itself, how to preform the magic discreetly, but never how to accurate reverse the action of magic once used – if it was ever possible. This particular book seemed to be about the more gruesome side of Transfiguration.

Whether it was from shock or hope, or a mix of the two, Harry found himself shutting the book with little consideration for it's age, swiftly kneeling down to place it next to the pile of others. He picked up a second book, opening it with haste and finding it was as evil as the first book had been. It showed images of witches and wizards in silent, desperate agony next to long texts giving voice to a history of potions that were used for sinister reasons throughout the decades. A third book showed only mysterious beasts at their most dangerous, discussing what useful magical properties dark wizards gained from their rare carcasses.

All of this was terrifying Harry more than he could comprehend. The idea that Tom would bring him here to try and make him read about Dark Magic was odd, but the fact that he had blatantly tried to bribe Harry before this by showing him Draco, as well as the fact that Harry knew he would have no choice but to be in this dream with Tom when Tom wanted, made this all terrifying to him. He didn't understand what was going on.

"I don't want to read this," Harry said numbly. It was all he could say.

"Harry –"

He stood up, holding the first book between tightly gripped hands. He wanted to get rid of all of these – he didn't want to see the dark magic nor the gruesome illustrations in these books and he certainly didn't want to be near them. This suddenly felt like a nightmare rather than the real experience he had firmly believed it was before. Harry was trying hard to push the book back into place, trying to make enough space between the row to let it slide through, when suddenly he stopped.

Tom's hand was resting upon his. His touch was gentle, but it was enough to calm Harry within seconds, to make him forget why he was panicking. As he stood facing the bookshelf, Tom was standing right behind him, leaning more to the left of him. His fingers slid around Harry's, his thumb rubbing up and down Harry's soothingly. Harry listened to him breathing, confused and enthralled by his swift choice of comfort.

After a moment Tom learnt forwards just a little, until his lips were almost touching Harry's ear. Harry was frozen in anticipation. Tom was millimetres away from him...

"I want you to fix me," Tom whispered to him. Harry could feel his breath on the back of his ear, on his neck. "I need you to fix me..."

Harry was shaking slightly, quivering. He wanted to blame it on the fear from earlier, but he was far from scared by this point. He knew Tom would feel it, but he couldn't stop. Moreover he knew he shouldn't like this, shouldn't want Tom so close to him, but he just couldn't help himself. He felt Tom's hand grip his more tightly, more affectionately as he shook every so often. He was thinking back to Grimmauld Place again, to when Tom had kissed his hand. He was thinking back to how much he had enjoyed such a simple gesture...

To his utter disbelief, Tom was leaning closer to him. He touched Harry's ear with the tip of his nose softly, as though it might have been a mistake... if Harry didn't like it. But Harry liked it very much. Tom could hear this from his quiet gasp, he could feel it in the way Harry tensed. His nose moved down slowly to the sensitive skin by Harry's earlobe, and he breathed more deeply against him. Harry could hear his every breath, could listen to Tom's desire.

Tom brushed his lips against Harry's neck. This one touch made Harry take a deep intake of breath, bringing him a close to a moan already, almost before he could stop it. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply... Tom could be so much closer...

Then, Harry felt something dropping onto his shoulder. Tom stopped kissing him in an instant and he opened his eyes. It felt like liquid had fallen on him, and when he looked down at his shirt he was alarmed to see blood soaking into it, dropping from what he knew must be Tom's rapidly bleeding nose and mouth. Harry backed up in fear and heard the book in his hand fall to the floor as he let it go, but he didn't end up crashing into Tom, as he had expected to.

Tom must have decided he had to end this 'dream'. He was gone and Harry fell back into nothing but darkness. He was drifting away, all of his panic, worry, and fear slipping from him as he became engulfed in sleep, without having any power to stop it... or to choose staying with Tom instead...


	7. The Seventh Floor

07 – The Seventh Floor

Harry opened his eyes. He lay on his back in bed, listening to the soft sound of a breeze brushing against the thin dormitory windows, watching the patters of light slipping above the curtains of his four-poster bed, playing patters on the ceiling above him. In his tired state, he couldn't think what he had dreamt about. He remembered the sight of Tom standing before him... but that was hardly a dream. He knew it wasn't; he remembered every detail. He took some time thinking over Tom's soft tone, the way he had brushed against him... Soon, however, Harry pushed the thought out of his mind, an odd nervous feeling settling upon him like a mist, surrounding him.

He remembered the Restricted Section of the Library and the alarming events that had followed. Why Riddle wanted him to take those books, Harry didn't want to know. He refused to acknowledge the curiousness of everything that had happened; he didn't want to have to work it out... A sudden sense of acting like the Dursleys dawned upon him, but he chose to ignore it. He wasn't in denial, he knew it wouldn't just go away. He was merely in no state to think it over.

Then, quite suddenly, he remembered seeing Draco. He remembered the long, winding path leading to him, the tall shelves stacked with innumerable objects hidden away by those in need of a place to hide items at Hogwarts. Draco had been sweating and stressing over that cupboard. Without reason, he had stood there in near tears, trying magic over and over again. It was quite a horrific image, thinking back. There Draco was, shaking and panicking, alone in that tall place in... the Room of Requirement...

Suddenly Harry sat up in his bed; this movement so abrupt, it may have looked as though someone had attempted to attack him. Wide awake now, he felt his heart racing faster than his alert and wondering mind. Draco was in the Room of Requirement, in a place to hide. He ripped at the curtains of his four-poster bed, leaping out of bed and pulling off his pyjama shirt hurriedly. He threw it aside as he searched for what to wear, intent upon getting changed as fast as possible.

"Morning," Ron's voice said slowly. He was watching Harry from his bed, where he sat with the curtains open, reading a book about Quidditch again. He tossed the book aside, however, and moved to the end of his bed. He was staring at Harry.

Harry pulled a jumper on over his shirt after a vague nod towards Ron, saying nothing.

"Were you going somewhere?" Ron asked.

Harry had finished getting changed. He dug in his trunk to find the Marauder's Map, scanning it with haste when it was in his hands. He turned to stare at Ron. He had no idea how to explain what was going on in his head.

"Are you al-?"

"I found it," Harry breathed.

Ron's look of worry and confusion doubled. "Found what?"

"The room Malfoy's been hidden in," Harry explained, "in the Room of Requirement!"

"You – you're sure?"

"I'm positive. And he's not on the map, he must be there!"

"But you've been asleep all morning, we went to bed at the same time last night."

"I had a dream – not like a normal dream, but one of those other ones."

Ron stared at him, his mouth partially open as if he wanted to interrupt.

"Look, it doesn't matter how I know, what's important is that Malfoy's in the Room of Requirement fixing something. I'll even show you if you want, we just have to hurry!"

"Why're you in a rush?" Ron asked, not moving from the bed. "You haven't even explained how-"

"If you want to follow me, then do. We haven't any time to lose, Malfoy could slip out of there at any moment! C'mon!"

Ron was already dressed, so wasted no more time before following Harry, who was headed for the Common Room. Harry caught a glimpse of him through a mirror on his way out, catching sight of his bewildered, nervous expression.

"Harry, if you'd just -"

Without giving any sign of having heard Ron, Harry headed for the portrait hole. They ran all the way to the seventh floor without pausing to talk, but stopped a few corridors down from the Room of Requirement. Harry pulled the invisibility cloak out of his pocket, urging Ron silently to join him. Ron seemed to understand what he was doing, so he dropped his voice to a whisper.

"Harry, don't you-"

"Shut up. We need to get past Crabbe and Goyle first."

Ron still appeared somewhat unnerved by all of this – by the way Harry was acting in particular. A few moments later they were crouched under the cloak together, being as quiet as they could as they headed down a few more corridors. Without struggle, they passed Crabbe, who was transformed into a short Hufflepuff girl with tangled black hair, clutching a school book that wouldn't have been given to a Second Year, Harry saw.

They reached the stretch of wall opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach trolls the ballet. When he was sure no one was around, Harry pulled the cloak off of the two of them. They edged slowly to the blank stretch of wall Harry had spent so much time staring at in frustration. This was it, he thought, this was finally the moment to see what Malfoy was up to...

"He's hiding in there," Harry said in a low voice. "It's where he's been all along..."

"How're you gonna get in?"

"I know what he's doing. He's hiding a cupboard in there, the one from Borgin & Burkes, I think."

"How'd he get that in there?" Ron asked in disbelief.

"Well it looks the same, I dunno if it's the same one or not."

"And you found all this out from a dream?" Ron's eyebrows were raised. "Harry, are you sure you didn't just dream it all?"

"I'm positive, this wasn't the same. I'll prove it..."

Remembering what Tom had said last night about where Malfoy was, Harry began to pace along the corridor. With closed eyes, he smiled a little bit at the prospect of finally being able to prove that Draco was a Death Eater. '_I need a place to hide_,' he thought, concentrating hard.

Turning around, he began to pace the other way. '_I need a place to hide..._'

Harry was thinking of how Dumbledore would react to the situation, about how Draco's crimes would be stopped now, before they got even worse. He was going to prove everyone wrong, and this would save them from having to see what Draco was up to as a Death Eater, alone, in the Room of Requirement. '_I need a place to hi-_'

"_Don't._"

Tom was standing right in front of him.

Harry nearly shouted in shock; he stumbled backwards in panic, falling and landing on the ground with a loud _crash_.

"Harry!"

Harry had closed his eyes upon falling, losing track of where Tom was. Ron was heading towards him.

"Are you alright?"

"I-I'm fine," Harry stammered. He pushed himself up off the ground, scanning the corridor shakily. Tom was nowhere to be seen. "Did you just -?"

He was going to ask Ron if he had just seen Tom standing here, but the look on Ron's face made him stop. Ron wasn't scared, as he surely would be if he had just seen a seventeen-year-old Voldemort telling Harry to stop. Ron can't have heard Tom either, for he showed no signs of understanding what Harry was looking for...

"What happened?" Ron asked, helping Harry up.

"Nothing, I just..." Harry had no excuse, so tried to make one up. "I-I don't think it worked."

Ron shot a glance at the stretch of wall beside them. Harry could tell what he was thinking: how could Harry have come up with this theory when he hadn't even looked for the door?

"You sure you're alright?" Ron asked slowly. "If you want to go to the Hospital Wing, I can understand."

"There's nothing wrong with me," Harry assured him. "I'm just tired, that's all."

"You're probably hungry as well," Ron pointed out. "We should go down to breakfast, go see Hermione. She'll set this right..."

His last words seemed to be directed more to himself than to Harry as he turned away. Harry knew he had unnerved Ron. He was in half a mind to tell Ron to go ahead without him, but two things stopped him. He didn't want Ron to go worry with Hermione and he wasn't quite keen upon the idea of standing around here in case Ton should show up again. The idea scared him...

Breakfast was uncomfortable for Harry, who sat eating toast in near silence, pretending not to notice when Ron and Hermione cast each other worrying looks. He knew they were going to talk about him as soon as he wasn't around. The more he thought about it, the more he believed that Hermione had asked Ron to tail him. He thought back to this morning, reflecting now that it wasn't usual of Ron to sit in bed reading on a Saturday morning. He was waiting for him.

To save them the awkwardness of thinking up an excuse to leave him, after breakfast he gave his own excuse, to be on his own for the whole morning. He had given up his attempts to try and convince the two of them that nothing unusual had happened. He had no excuse for trying to find Draco in the Room of Requirement after that dream, and he didn't want to talk about it to them. He felt alone even when he was with them.

Harry returned to his dormitory after breakfast, hoping that Ron wouldn't follow him. Some part of him wanted to spend the day with his two friends, to break the sudden change that caused him to feel so distanced and isolated, but he didn't think it could be fixed. Nothing seemed to sound right in his mind as he attempted to work out what he would say. The truth couldn't be shared and excuses sounded feeble even before he mulled them over properly. He didn't want to have to lie.

The dormitory was flooded with warm sunshine that Harry felt no desire to go outside and greet. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he felt unable to move, as though his thoughts were using up all of his energy. He was thinking about the appearance of Riddle on the seventh floor. Had that even happened? It had been so swift, so unexpected, that Harry was beginning to doubt it. Ron hadn't seen anything, after all. Maybe Harry was just tired...

What would have happened if he had entered the Room of Requirement with Ron to find Draco, he wondered? But how could he have... how could he have possibly explained to Ron, Hermione, and Dumbledore most of all, how he had known where Draco was and why? He could have pulled it off as another vision, perhaps, but they would surely see through this lie. In the past, he had only had visions into Voldemort's mind. There was no pretending that Voldemort had been at Hogwarts, checking up on Draco. Well, not unless you counted Tom...

Except, Harry thought, Tom wasn't real. He shook his head, trying to set his thoughts right. His face was buried in his hands. He didn't even know what Tom was. There was no explanation for why these dreams were happening, now an appearance in waking hours... Harry's chest seemed contorted, he was breathing heavily though clawed hands.

What if none of it was real at all? What if he had imagined the whole thing, like Ron and Hermione basically suggested? They were fearful – they were scared of him, even... Harry stared at the ground though his spread fingers, his breath being held in without his notice. They might have reason to be scared. They might have reason to stay away from him more often, having Ron follow him only to make sure he didn't do something insane – like believe that a dream had informed him of Draco Malfoy's crimes...

Harry let out a noise of frustration, pressing his palms to his closed eyes in a mix of anger and embarrassment. They didn't understand what he was doing, while he didn't understand how to explain himself. What if he was insane? They thought he was while they didn't know half the story. He could be absolutely mad, believing Malfoy was a Death Eater in paranoia. The more he thought about it, the less it made sense that Malfoy was fixing that cupboard. It could have all been a dream, it could have been his wonder for the cupboard in Borgin & Burkes gone mad...

Harry had seen Snape talking to Draco, had witnessed their conversation after Slughorn's Christmas Party, yet no one believed it meant anything. Dumbledore himself had dismissed Harry's theories as if he was acting both ignorant and too eager to prove that Snape and Draco were evil. Harry felt he was making a total fool of himself, suffering the affects of his idiocy already as he was neglected by even his best friends. Nobody trusted a word he said anymore.

Hatred for his own self, his own thoughtlessness, was taking over Harry's whole range of current emotion. Of course he was insane! He was utterly mad to believe that Tom Marvolo Riddle was somehow visiting him at night when we was supposed to be asleep. He was idiotic to believe for a second that Tom was taking him so far away to visit places at random, to have discussions in which Tom told him he had been with him forever, that he had watched him grow up completely unnoticed...

Then there was the fact that Tom somehow wasn't Lord Voldemort, apparently, and he knew Draco Malfoy spent his evenings crying alone in the Room of Requirement over a cupboard... Harry felt like a fool for believing any of it. Ron had suggested they go to the Hospital Wing to get him looked at, there was no doubting that he probably thought Harry had gone mad – he probably knew it. He felt like a fool, a total fool...

Finding himself swiftly wanting to stop his thoughts on the matter, Harry stood up. He didn't want to think at all. He understood, now, how deluded he had been; the idea pained him. Turning towards his trunk, he was going to find the Marauder's Map to work out where Ron and Hermione were. He was in half a mind to explain to them how stupid he felt, whilst another part of him wanted nothing more than to pretend nothing had happened. All Harry knew was that he didn't want to sit in here alone.

Before Harry reached his trunk, however, something caught his eye.

There, resting neatly to the side of his unmade bed, rested something he had certainly never put there. Harry could do nothing but stare. His expression, thoughts, and muscles froze up in fear. Five books piled neatly, one on top of the other, were bound in black and brown leather... They were very large even for books of the Hogwarts' Library. Tom had wanted him to take these books, so here they were, they same ones from last night...

Harry didn't pause to think how on earth they had ended up here. All he cared about was the terrible fear that gripped him as he wondered what on earth people would think if they found the subject of the Dark Arts stolen from the Restricted Section, sitting by the side of his bed.

In panic, the urge to get rid of the books as soon as possible possessed Harry. He began lifting them off the floor, piling them onto his unmade bed as fear shook his limbs in it's power. What was he supposed to do with this? There was no way he could return the books to the library. Even if he did it before Madam Pince met him, there would be suspicions amongst the teachers about who had taken the books, and why.

The first wild plan that crossed Harry's racing mind was that he should sneak into the Restricted Section to return them himself, but he had no idea which part these books had come from. He had a horrible feeling that this particular section would be locked up with tighter security, what was more. The next thing that came to mind was that he should hide them in the Room of Requirement – and this thought crossed his might with a deep sense of dry humour. Perhaps it'd help Draco in his troubles...

Any moment someone could walk in here and see Harry with these distinctly large and aged volumes. If there was an inquiry throughout the school about who had taken these, Harry would be ratted out immediately for having such suspicious items in his possession. Without hesitation, he started to tear at his trunk, pulling out robes and school books to make a clearing big enough to fit books of this size. It was a difficult, awkward fit, especially since he had rushed so much.

He couldn't fit everything back in his trunk; he had to settle with taking out some of his schoolbooks and setting them on the table beside his bed. He hoped no one would find this curious. In a moment of feeling only slightly calmer, he decided he would get rid of the books as soon as he could. There was no way he was keeping them around. There was no way he would allow Tom to force this upon him...

Harry knew, now, just how persistent Tom could be in pursuing his desires.


	8. The Art of Persuasion

08 – The Art Of Persuasion

The dormitory was finally quiet. Despite the fact that it was well past midnight, Harry lay awake in bed. He couldn't sleep. It was a Wednesday night, four days after Harry had found the Dark Arts books waiting beside his bed without warning. These books had been weighing upon his mind, causing him to be nervous ever since their appearance, which he was sure made Ron and Hermione eager to keep a closer watch on him. Tonight was the first night Harry felt brave enough to get rid of the books; Ron sounded fast asleep. Harry got out of bed.

He had moved all of the books into a spare rucksack yesterday at lunch. He slid the bag out from under his bed as quietly as he could, having to haul it over his shoulder with a bit of effort due to its weight. He hadn't heard any news throughout the school reporting that these books were missing, but he realised and remembered that these weren't the sort of books that were often sought after by any of the students or professors. Even Madam Pince didn't go to that part of the Library often.

Harry threw the Invisibility Cloak over himself and left the dormitory promptly, his heart racing. He heard and saw no one on his way through the Common Room, so he didn't have to be too cautious as he climbed out of the portrait hole, being gentle enough to not alarm the fat lady (though she did mutter a bit in confusion and disapproval, doubtlessly knowing there was someone there). He was just heading in the direction of the library, when he stopped.

There would be no way to return these books without Madam Pince realising that they had been taken at some point. If Harry was to leave them in the library or even to attempt putting them back in that part of the Restricted Section, she would know. There would be an inquiry about it by tomorrow morning and Harry knew he wasn't a good enough liar to pretend he hadn't been a part of it, if asked directly. If he hid the books elsewhere, on the other hand, who knows how long it would be before anyone realised they were gone...

At this, Harry's mind was made up. He headed for the Room of Requirement instead, feeling that this was by far a better idea. He was there after a few minutes, meeting no one else on his way there. '_I need a place to hide these books..._' he thought three times, pacing past the plain stretch of wall that would open up into a bigger room. He was scared at the thought of being stopped again, but Tom was no where to be seen. With an honest need for the room to appear, it did so willingly. Harry entered.

It was just like Harry had seen the room in his 'dream'. There were rows and rows of towering shelves around him, packed with strange broken, cursed, neglected, stolen, or dead objects and things. Harry didn't want to go far into the room. It was dark and he feared he might get lost if he wandered too much. He took the heavy bag off of his shoulder and lowered it to the ground unkindly, intent upon stashing it under a thin-legged table that carried various pots and containers full of old keys, odd powders, strange twisted metal, and things of the sort.

Before he had turned away after pushing the bag fully under the table with this foot, however, a shaking voice called, "Who's there?"

Malfoy appeared around a corner. He was quite far away from Harry, in fear, but Harry stood frozen. He didn't want to be heard even if he couldn't be seen. Malfoy's face was pale and frightened, staring around shakily for signs of who had made that noise. Harry felt an odd desire to show himself. He wanted to talk to Draco, to find out what he was doing with that cupboard, but even now Harry understood it wasn't a wise idea. Malfoy would only fight him, or would find out he was hiding these books by seeing the rucksack that hadn't been here before. He surely knew the room well.

Malfoy, after seemingly deciding there was no one here, turned away, leaving Harry in the darkness once more as his wand-light faded. Harry was tempted to follow him so he could watch him fix that cupboard, but he didn't want to be out of bed for too long, least he should be found missing. Harry turned to the exit of the room, wanting to go sleep peacefully now that he could. He was on his way out, opening the door as quietly as he could, when it finally happened: Tom had appeared once more.

The shock of seeing Tom here wasn't any better the second time. Harry was startled, nearly shouting in fear and letting the door slam shut behind him. He caught the door in time, however, and saved himself from letting Draco know completely who had entered the Room of Requirement. Tom stood patiently, watching him. Harry felt a little embarrassed by the intensity of his stare; apparently Invisibility Cloaks did nothing to stop Tom from seeing him. The door behind Harry faded into the wall, leading a silence to fall.

"Why are you here?" Harry asked defensively, trying to sound anything but scared. He pulled the cloak off, wanting to see Tom better in the darkness. He lit his wand.

"I felt as though I needed to check up on you," Tom responded softly. "I didn't want a repeat of the last time you visited this place in search of Draco."

"I don't know why you stopped me that time either. You were fine with me seeing him before."

"It's unwise to involve Weasley in this. The less people who know, the better."

This annoyed Harry. "I thought you said you weren't Voldemort?"

Tom was surprised. "I'm not."

"Then why don't you want anyone to know about Malfoy? Everyone should know!"

"With the little evidence we have gathered, you believe it would be easy to prove that Draco is committing these crimes?"

"He has a Dark Mark, doesn't he? Everyone involved with the Order know what that means!"

"If you were to go in there with Weasley and scare Malfoy, he would never go near the Room of Requirement nor that cabinet again. As for the Dark Mark, I believe Draco would sooner flee the school in any way he can than reveal his left forearm before the eyes of any student or teacher here."

Harry wished this wasn't true. He wanted to get Malfoy, he wanted to prove to everyone that Malfoy was up to something before something worse happened...

"What is more, your reputation isn't quite what it once was, Harry, even amongst your closer friends and guardians."

"Yeah, well, it hardly helps when you ruin my only chance to prove to Ron that I'm not mad."

Tom watched him carefully, seeing his annoyance. "I'm sorry it happened that way... but I cannot risk us scaring Draco so soon."

"Why not?"

"I know you wish to prove that Draco is a Death Eater, that he is working for Lord Voldemort," Tom said softly. "I want you to have solid proof, to redeem your reputation so that your friends and teachers will respect you once more. I understand this is what you desire."

Harry was surprised. He didn't know why Tom was being so considerate about what he wanted, but suddenly this made sense to Harry. Even if it took a little longer, he would be able to bring solid evidence to Ron, Hermione, and Dumbledore if he gathered more information on Malfoy first...

"I guess you're right," he said, his annoyance gone. He waited to see signs to indicate what Tom was thinking, but his face was blank. Then, before Harry could help it, he asked, "Why haven't there been any more 'dreams'?"

"That has finished," Tom answered simply.

"Don't you have anything else to show me? Or to talk about?"

"Not anywhere beyond Hogwarts, no. Yet I'm here now, am I not?"

It certainly looked so to Harry, who's mind kept questioning if this was real life or yet another dream.

"If you wish to learn more about me, I am afraid I cannot supply you with information satisfactorily, for I wish to avoid overwhelming you."

"So, you can't tell me anything more about you?"

"No. However, I assume you have not forgotten what Albus Dumbledore requested from you... If you wish to understand why I am here, you must convince Slughorn to give up his memory. He has information that will make this clear."

"Why can't you tell me?"

"I want you to see the information for yourself. I want you to know I am not lying to you."

This made sense, Harry thought. After all, he wasn't even sure if Tom could be trusted... He wished everyone would stop bothering him to get this memory, but he knew he had to do it. He had to find a way...

"Can you help me get the memory?"

"No. You will succeeded, whether I help you or not."

"But if you helped me, I could know what he's hiding so much sooner. You know how he works, he adored you when you were a stu-"

"What're you doing?"

Harry stopped dead. Tom was gone. Ron was standing down the corridor, watching him.

"Parseltongue won't open the Room of Requirement," Ron said slowly. "Why were you using it?"

Harry's mouth was suddenly very dry. "I... I thought it was worth a shot."

Ron didn't seem very convinced. He shifted where he stood, looking around warily as if he indeed expected to see someone else there.

"I'm surprised you found me here," Harry said after a moment, to catch Ron's attention.

"Well, it was pretty obvious where you went. I saw you weren't sleeping."

This managed to irritate Harry, but in honestly he was just worried about Ron catching him speaking with Tom. "Why did you follow me?"

"We're mates," Ron said defensively, "we're supposed to be looking out for each other, aren't we? I've been a bit worried about, well.. your whole obsession with Malfoy, to be honest."

Harry glared before he could help it. "It's not an obsession – whatever Malfoy's up to, it can't be good. Someone has to find out what he's up to and why, it's too important!"

"Look," said Ron, "if Malfoy's really up to something, don't you think Dumbledore, or McGonagall, or someone else from the Order would have realised something's up? Dumbledore himself said you shouldn't worry about it."

"It's not like there's much else I have to do."

"Well, you should be focusing on getting that memory from Slughorn, first of all."

Harry knew he was right, just like Hermione, just like Tom... "Yeah, well, I don't even know how I'm supposed to pull that off."

"We'll think of something," Ron said. His voice was losing it's forceful tone in exchange for reassurance as he carried on, "You just have to keep trying. At any rate, Slughorn will get used to you asking eventually – maybe then he'll see it's more important than burying the past, and he'll give you the memory."

"Yeah, maybe..."

Harry wondered whether Ron saw this as his chance to make friends with him again.

"It'll be alright," he said once more, "you've got me and Hermione to help, anyway. We'll work it out."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, finding this oddly comforting. "Thanks, Ron."

Ron smiled, seeming to forget how odd it was that Harry had been standing here muttering Parseltongue to himself. On their way back to the dormitory there was a new spring in Ron's step that Harry highly doubted had been there before. They talked the whole way back about possible ways to trick Slughorn into handing Harry the memory. They didn't talk about Malfoy, nor Tom. Harry didn't want to ruin Ron's good mood and he didn't want to worry him. After getting rid of those books and seeing Ron acting normal again, Harry felt far better than he could have expected so soon.

-X-

For the remaining half of the week, Harry stayed close to Ron and Hermione. The two of them didn't seem quite as eager to interrogate him about what he was thinking in relation to Tom and what he was doing by following Malfoy around, so Harry felt more comfortable talking to them. Mostly, however, he thought that if he stayed around the two of them more often, maybe Tom would stop appearing altogether. It wasn't that Harry necessarily hated to see Tom, but the thought often made him feel uncomfortable and the sight of Tom scared him... He felt safe around his friends.

Hermione was a little more suspicious of Harry's behaviour than Ron was, however. Harry was sure this was because Ron could more openly ignore everything odd that happened before in his attempt to befriend Harry again. Hermione wanted to be Harry's friend too, but she couldn't ignore his unusual behaviour. She couldn't pretend it wasn't odd that Harry had drifted from them recently, yet she didn't seem able to communicate her concern without sounding both annoyed and frustrated. This resulted in many conversations ending in arguments.

It was Sunday when Harry and Hermione argued so much, Harry left for his dormitory around 8pm. He knew she, like he, had become irritable after a long day of finishing off the homework they needed to hand in tomorrow morning, and although they had finished their work early, this was hardly a consolation to their moods. Even as Ron attempted to smooth out their bitter comments, there was no way they could get along this evening. Harry regretted spending time with them these last few days; all he wanted now was to be alone.

Apparently this was asking for too much, however. When he arrived in the dormitory he didn't find Neville, nor Dean, nor Ron, nor Seamus waiting for him, he found Tom. He was sitting on Harry's bed, his hands folded in his lap neatly as he waited. When he saw Harry, he smiled, as if this was an agreed meeting. Harry might have been fine with this if it weren't for one thing: several books were strewn on the bed beside Tom, their pages open with clear with instruction of the gruesome and horrid magic that lay within them.

The colour drained from Harry's face so quickly, he felt faint. What if Ron was to follow him up here, to check if he was okay after his argument? What if any of the other three boys sharing this room decided to pay it a visit, only to find Harry had the Dark Arts written everywhere in sight, waiting patiently for his return?

"Hello," Tom said politely, a look of confusion crossing his face at Harry's blatant terror.

"What are you doing here?" Harry demanded in panic.

Tom's head tilted to the side a little. "Do you wish for me to leave?"

"You can't leave these books there! You can't keep them around – nevermind open!"

"You left them in the Room of Requirement," Tom said calmly. "I returned them to you."

"I didn't leave them there, I wanted them to stay there! I can't believe this..."

Harry was already closing the books with haste, his heart drumming against his chest heavily. All the while, he was aware that Tom watched him. He began putting the books into a pile, lifting them off the bed in two or three stacks to hide them in his trunk again. There seemed to be more than before.

"Your friends won't know what they are, even if they saw these books," Tom told him placidly. "Many books look vaguely the same, after all."

"And if they read them?" Harry asked irritably. "Anyone can see they're Dark Arts books, Tom!"

Harry saw Tom's mouth twitch at the sound of his name. Tom said nothing.

"Can't you see I don't want these?" Harry asked, still panicked and nervous, yet somehow embarrassed now, under Tom's gaze.

"Draco could have found them," Tom mentioned idly, watching Harry kneeling by the trunk, piling as many books as he could back in. He watched Harry pause as it didn't all fit in. "You need to learn the magic, not anyone else."

"Yeah, and why's that?" Harry asked through gritted teeth.

Tom did not answer immediately. Harry had to take out some of his school robes to make room for the last two books, worrying where he was supposed to put his robes now. His second rucksack hadn't been returned with the books. "There are many reasons. To help me, to help you, to discover more information... You want to learn more about Draco first of all, do you not?"

"I don't see the connection."

"There are many interesting pieces of magic in these books," Tom said. "There is magic that could, if used properly, help you to extract information you otherwise could not extract."

"Like what?"

"Like what's going on in that mind of Draco's."

Harry scowled. "Yeah, liked I'd be able to find out what he's -"

He realised, then, what Tom was saying.

"Do you mean Legilimency?" he asked quickly.

A soft smile caught Tom's lips. "I'm glad to see you've understood."

Harry looked back down at the books in his hands in a mix of finding Tom's smile odd and finding this information intriguing. He ran his hand over the cover slowly, thinking. He was sure he hadn't seen a book about Occlumency or Legilimency on their first trip to the library, yet Tom had blatantly given him more books this time. It wasn't dark magic, even if it was somewhat illegal. If he could see what Draco was thinking...

"I could teach you the art of Occlumency and Legilimency," Tom told him softly. "You would be both more protected and more able to gain the information you need."

Harry looked up into his dark grey eyes. "You'd do that for me?"

The smile returned. "Of course..."

"I'd love to see what Malfoy's thinking," Harry commented quietly, thinking deeply again. This was magic that Dumbledore had wanted him to learn anyway, and he was sure Tom would be a far better teacher than Snape ever was. "So we could start soon?"

"The sooner the better."

"Brilliant," Harry said, smiling a little too. "Though... I can't exactly keep going somewhere without Ron and Hermione getting suspicious."

"I thought of that. Perhaps we should have lessons at a time when no one else is around... for example, in one of our 'dreams'?"

"Would that work?"

"Naturally. If, of course, you don't mind sleeping for an hour or so less every few days."

"No, it'd be worth it. If I can finally see what's happening... I just don't know what Malfoy's up to."

"Well," Tom said slowly, softly as he thought, "we know he is spending quite a lot of time alone with that cabinet. What we need to find out now is why the cabinet is of such importance, why Draco is so very stressed, and, in relation to your theories, why he appears to have poisoned your friend after almost murdering a young student for touching a cursed necklace."

Harry felt a little uncomfortable at the whole idea. Draco was sending deadly presents around, not even caring who was hurt by them first... He wondered for a moment if he was Draco's target. Surely it would be easier than that to try and kill Harry, though? All he'd have to do is take some Polyjuice Potion and dress up like Ron or Hermione before killing him in the Common Room, or curse a Bludger to make it go after him at a Quidditch match, like Dobby once did. Unless it was someone else he was after...

"I don't see why Dumbledore doesn't just stop him," Harry mentioned, "surely he knows that he's dealing with something more than just random attacks. He knows Malfoy could easily be replacing his father – he asked Snape to keep a watch on the Slytherins, anyway."

Tom's head tilted to the side a little. "How do you know that?"

"Hagrid mentioned it," Harry said, surprised Tom wasn't there. "He said Snape was arguing with Dumbledore, talking about how Snape had to make more investigations on the Slytherins."

"Why did they argue over this?"

"I don't know. It's odd though, either Snape's not listening to Dumbledore, or Dumbledore just isn't satisfied with how Snape has been trying to find out who's behind these attacks."

"If Dumbledore does not believe that Draco is the one behind all of this, why would he insist that Slytherin is a suspicious House? Moreover, why would he argue at all?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "It doesn't make any sense – I can't imagine Dumbeldore argued with the other Heads of House. It's obvious Malfoy's a Death Eater, how could Dumbledore miss that... It's like he wants something bad to happen."

"You think so?"

"No, not really," Harry admitted, "but it's just... it's mad."

"Indeed..."

A silence fell. As it did, Harry closed the trunk, pushing it back under his bed as he realised that by talking to Tom he had become far less worried. He stood up and sat on the bed, far enough away from Tom so they didn't touch. "Hagrid was nervous though," Harry mentioned, "he definitely messed up by saying anything to me and Hermione."

"Did he say anything else?"

"Not really... he just said something about how Snape 'didn't want to do it anymore'."

"Do what?"

"Hagrid didn't know. Or, well, he didn't say."

Tom seemed interested, very interested by this point. "This is when they were arguing?"

"Yeah. I mean, I don't think Hagrid heard much of the conversation, so they must have argued the whole time he listened."

"Was this before or after they talked of the Slytherin students?"

"Er – before, I think. He wasn't really clear about it."

Tom was thinking deeply. He seemed to see this as somehow relevant to what they had been discussing.

"What are you thinking?" Harry asked.

Tom took a moment to gather his thoughts. "Dumbledore is a very complicated wizard... It is suspicious that he dismisses your theories on what Draco is up to and it is curious that he would, despite this, demand that Snape keeps a closer watch over his House... I doubt this was in consideration for your nerves alone, for he does not lie so bluntly unless it is of great importance..."

Harry wasn't quite sure how Tom made so many assessments about Dumbledore like this, but he didn't think about it too much. He was more interested in whether or not Tom had discovered a plausible theory.

"Then again, it isn't as though Dumbledore hasn't kept secrets like this in the past," Tom said, apparently talking to himself as much as to Harry. "He seems to hold things back when he believes you, or others, aren't able to endure it... An example of this would be last year, when he admitted that he hadn't told you for five solid years that you inevitably had to defeat Voldemort, that you had been marked as his equal..."

It took Harry a moment to work out how it was possible that Tom had witnessed that. "That's true..." Perhaps Tom had followed him around like a ghost, never showing himself to Harry yet. Harry wondered what it might have been like if he had met Tom then instead. Or earlier. Tom would have been a good friend to him all those years he was alone in the Muggle world...

"It is clear that he will not fully explain how you must defeat Voldemort, despite the urgency for you to learn the magic you will need," Tom then said. "After all, he has neither taught you any new defensive magic or powerful spells at all, nor has he fully explained to you in any of your lessons why you are watching these memories... You are yet to know what a Horcrux is..."

"So you know, then?" Harry asked sharply. "You know what a Horcrux is?"

Tom watched him carefully. After a long pause he said,"I cannot lie that I don't..."

Harry couldn't believe that he hadn't asked Tom about Horcruxes before. After all, he didn't just know about Dark Magic and promote it, he _was_ Tom Riddle, he knew what memory Slughorn was hiding.

"Why can't you tell me?"

"I don't want to scare you."

"You think I'd be less scared learning about Horcruxes by seeing that memory?"

"You trust Dumbledore," Tom said softly, "you trust him and Slughorn to give you information of worth and truth."

"I trust you more," Harry said quietly. They watched each other for a moment. "You haven't lied to me for years about having to defeat Voldemort, you didn't refuse to believe me about how Draco's a Death Eater. And anyway, Slughorn can't really be trusted, he tried to give _Dumbledore_ a fake memory, to keep secrets on how to defeat Voldemort. You're more trustworthy than them."

Tom gave no fast response. He examined Harry's face as if looking for signs to suggest why he had said this. He didn't smile. "I'm sorry I can't give you more information more quickly..."

Harry shrugged, attempting to brush it off. He was still a little annoyed. "It's alright."

The next thing Harry knew, there was a muffled '_bang_' and the sound of locks clicked as his mattress shook. The trunk under Harry's bed had opened and soaring out came two books bound in black and brown. They landed on Tom's lap, but soon he lifted them out for Harry to take.

"These will help you with Occlumency and Legilimency," Tom told him. "I'm afraid I must go for now, but you can read them in the meantime."

"Thank you."

Harry took the books from Tom's hands, almost touching his fingers in the process. For some odd reason this made Harry's stomach leap. He felt a little embarrassed again as Tom watched him closely. He looked away.

"In the other books, will there be any information about Horcruxes?"

"Take a look for yourself, if you wish."

"Which ones would -" but Harry stopped.

Tom was already gone. Harry sat with the two books as his only company. He began to read.


	9. Hagrid's Confession

09 – Hagrid's Confession

Malfoy must have known he was being followed. He headed down corridors seemingly at random as Harry crept along behind him, unseen under the Invisibility Cloak. The material trailed along the floor with his silent footsteps. Harry had been following Draco for almost ten minutes; he had been reading in his dormitory instead of spending time with the other Gryffindors, when he spotted Draco on the Marauder's Map. It was too good a chance to miss.

Harry wasn't quite sure what drove him to leave the Common Room at first. He knew it was unlikely that he would catch Draco doing anything bad, but he was still a Death Eater and Harry knew he was behind all of these attacks. Harry wanted to catch Malfoy as soon as possible, to stop him from hurting anyone else. If he could just prove to Ron, Hermione, and Dumbledore that Draco was evil, they would finally quit thinking he was mad, so he wouldn't have to do any of this at all...

There was a noise from above; a door was being opened. They were on the fifth floor, about to climb up a staircase, but Draco turned around. Harry let him pass, moving sideways so they wouldn't collide, Draco stopped when they were close. For a moment it seemed as though he had felt Harry, perhaps sensing him or noticing the air change as he stepped aside. When the sound of footsteps continued on the stairs above him, however, Draco walked on.

He was stressed. He was nearly running, being as quiet as he could while Harry trailed along. Filch was close behind, but he was slow and couldn't hear nor see it when Draco slipped around a corner to hide. Harry watched for a minute or two as Filch hobbled past, grumbling all the way to Mrs Norris, who was close at his heels. She didn't sense the two students, luckily. Draco waited in silence for Filch's footsteps to fade before he got up once more.

He started going lower into the school. For a few minutes Harry believed he might be doing something more interesting down in the dungeons, but the more they walked the more obvious it became that Malfoy was heading back to the Slytherin Common Room. Harry felt disappointed, then confused about it. He had followed Draco to stop him attacking anyone, but he didn't even have to. Why, then, was he disappointed?

"Consecrate," Draco murmured, opening up the Slytherin Common Room.

Harry's heart leapt. He now knew the password to go and spy on Malfoy whenever he liked. He watched as Draco stepped through the wall in front of them, his mind racing to think what this changed.

"Don't follow him," a voice hissed from behind Harry.

It was Tom. He was standing against the wall of this corridor calmly. Again, the Cloak did nothing to stop him from seeing Harry.

"You won't get any sleep, at this rate."

"There are more important things going on," Harry responded. "Don't you understand how dangerous Malfoy is?"

"Draco has been this way all year. You cannot fall behind in your classes, for it would be most suspicious to those around you."

"He almost murdered two students already," Harry reminded him, "I have to find out more about this."

"How? By watching him sleep?"

"Maybe he'll tell some of the other Slytherins about what he's up to. Maybe -"

"Draco is not a fool. He has been clumsy, yes, but I believe this is from lack of care, above all. He is not foolish enough to give details openly to his fellow Slytherins about what he's up to – least of all when they're within earshot of the rest of their house. I understand you want information, yet this is not the correct approach."

"What do you suggest then?" Harry asked. "Dumbledore won't listen, Ron and Hermione think I'm mad and they haven't been the same around me – I haven't got a choice."

"Even if you were to listen into Draco's conversations, you would not find the information you need."

"I was thinking I... well, what if I talked to him?"

Tom tilted his head a little. "Directly?"

"Yeah. I mean, you remember how he was in the Room of Requirement, I've never seen him so stressed out – and for what? All of these attacks, all of his attempts to try and do whatever Voldemort's asked him to do... he's making it all pretty obvious. It's like – it's like he doesn't care, not for Voldemort, not for the students. Either he's more dangerous than anyone knows, or he doesn't want to do it."

Tom contemplated this for a moment, looking serious. "You think he would talk to you?"

"I – I dunno... I don't see what else I can do."

"You might scare him off. He might try to hurt you."

Harry didn't respond to this immediately. Some first year Slytherins were walking his way, to return to their Common Room.

"I know I might scare him," Harry said when the students vanished beyond the wall, "but what choice do I have?"

"Surely there's someone within Hogwarts who would believe what you say?" Tom suggested quietly. His gaze was fixed on Harry. "Someone else must be thinking along the same lines as you in some way, gathering information?"

"You're the only one who believes me. Not even Ron, or Hermione..."

"Is it not true that, only a few days ago, you described to me the confessions of Rubeus Hagrid, concerning a moment where he overheard Dumbledore and Snape discussing these attacks? From what you described, Rubeus appeared quite reluctant to elaborate upon how the discussion went..."

Harry's eyes widened. "You think he might know more about this?"

A soft smile crept upon Tom's face as he watched Harry's reaction. "I would like to know more about what he heard. It seems an important conversation, after all, and it is clear he trusts you."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, "yeah, that makes sense. I dunno why I never thought of it; of course Hagrid will understand all of this!"

Harry felt joyful, sure of it now that Hagrid would have more information on Malfoy. It had been a while since Harry paid Hagrid a visit, and although this was due to tighter security in the Castle, Harry felt as though he might be able to slip outside if he was quick enough.

"We should go, now," Harry said, "I don't want to wait, Hagrid will surely be at his hut. C'mon!"

They headed up towards the Entrance Hall without pause. A few students were still returning from a day spent outside in the sunlight, which meant that it was easy for Harry to slip out unnoticed. He knew he wouldn't have much time until the castle was locked up, but he felt the risk was worth it for this.

The lights in Hagrid's hut were on. When Harry knocked, he could hear the clinking of bottles and the sound of a chair being pushed out from a table noisily, doubtlessly as Hagrid stood up. He pulled off the cloak just as the door was being opened.

"Harry?" Hagrid greeted in surprise, "What're yeh doin' here?"

"I wanted to talk to you," Harry said. "I wouldn't have risked coming down here, but it's important."

"Well, don' just stand there then, come in. Unless you wan' me ter lose me job, of course..."

Harry stepped into Hagrid's home, closely followed by Tom. As he closed the door, Harry recognised the smell of heavy booze. He was confused for a moment, wondering why Hagrid would be drinking so early, but Tom had a soft smile on his face as he watched Harry.

"Si' down," Hagrid offered, taking a chair heavily on one side of the table. "What it it yer wantin' ter ask me 'bout?"

Tom sat next to Hagrid, on a chair that was already drawn out enough so he didn't need to move it. Harry took a seat opposite Hagrid, averting his eyes from the boy only he could see.

"It's about the attacks up at the school," Harry said, wanting this conversation to get directly to the point, "I'm really worried about it."

"Tha's why yeh came down here so late?" Hagrid asked. "Yer could've visited me earlier, Harry, there's no use riskin' detention for tha' – the whole school's worried 'bout these attacks."

"I know, but I think I might have found something out," Harry said, "something important."

"Have yeh?"

Harry struggled to find the right way to begin his explanation. "I think it's Malfoy."

"Malfoy?" Hagrid repeated. "I know yer don' like him, Harry, wha' with the Malfoy's hist'ry... but to accuse him of summat like tha'..."

Hagrid looked a bit concerned, shaking his head.

"Look, I know yer worried an' all, but yer have ter understand tha' the school'll be keepin' a close eye out for whoever's behin' all this. It won't be long now, I 'spect, 'till someone's caught."

"But Hagrid -"

"It's much like what happened with the Chamber of Secrets," Tom said softly. He had been watching Harry from across the table this whole conversation. "Remind him that."

"It," Harry began, unsure about it as he tore his eyes from Tom, "it's like what you said before... it's the Chamber of Secrets all over again. If we can't find out what's happening..."

Hagrid sighed a little, either because he believed this or because he was worried Harry that was getting carried away.

"Look," Harry began, "Dumbledore doesn't believe it's important, nor Ron or Hermione, or any of the Order, but I overheard Snape talking to Malfoy near Christmas. He was going on about how he made the Unbreakable Vow with Malfoy's mother – I don't know what it means, but it sounded as if Snape was trying to make Malfoy tell him what he's up to. I don't care who in particular is behind these attacks, but surely you understand how dangerous this all is?"

"Yer told Dumbledore this, didn't yeh?" Hagrid asked. "Tha's summat he needs to know, Harry."

"Yeah, I told him," Harry admitted, "but doesn't this prove Malfoy's up to something else?"

"Remind him that Dumbledore became angry with Snape."

"I dunno, Harry –"

"You said Dumbledore and Snape got into an argument," Harry said, taking Tom's advice again. "Didn't Dumbledore want Snape to watch over the Slytherin's more closely?"

"I – well, he – I told yer not ter read too much in'o it Harry, there's nothin' else to it!"

"I don't mean to," Harry said in a rush. "I just – I'm just worried."

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Hagrid looked guilty for having to keep telling Harry that he was making a big fuss out of something he understood affected the whole school greatly. Tom waited patiently and Harry attempted to follow his lead, seeing Hagrid sigh.

"Well... ter be 'onest... Dumbledore did say summat ter Snape abou' keepin' an eye on his 'young Slytherin friend' – but there's no reason ter worry 'bout that, Harry, if Dumbledore's already suspectin' that a student in Slytherin behind these attacks, surely enough it won't be long 'till they're caught."

This didn't settle Harry's confusion or worry. "What else else did Dumbledore say that night?" he pressed. "You said something about how Snape didn't want to do it anymore... what was he talking about?"

"I – I dunno... I still reckon it ws summat 'bout – 'bout Snape being overworked..."

"He's lying," Tom said placidly from next to Hagrid. "He's scared."

"Hagrid... do you know something?" Harry asked slowly.

Hagrid, who averted his eyes to a point just above Harry's head, didn't answer for a moment. His beard twitched a little, but Harry knew it had nothing to do with smiling. Hagrid's eyes were glazed. "It... it's hard ter remember what was said tha' night... it was quite a while ago now..."

"I'm not doing this because I care about who it is," Harry told him calmly, "I just want them to be stopped. There's something going on up at the castle, everyone knows it, and the more information we have, the sooner we can find out who's behind all of this."

"Dumbledore'll sor' it out, Harry."

"Dumbledore hasn't been listening. I told him everything I know, but he – are you alright?"

Hagrid gave a great sniff and attempted to sit up a little more. Harry watched him closely, bewildered. Huge tears were leaking out over Hagrid's bearded face, while he attempted to brush them away shakily.

"Hagrid?"

"Alrigh'," Hagrid said shakily, "I know ther's more ter this than I first a'mitted..."

"What's happened?"

"I – I reckon heard more than I should've," Hagrid said, his voice more strained than ever. It occurred to Harry that there must have been a reason for why Hagrid was drinking so early. "Ter put it ligh'ly, Dumbledore ain't well."

"How isn't he?"

"I reckon he – well, I might've heard it all wrong, mind... The point is, I don' think tha' – tha' things'll always be how they used ter be with Dumbledore..."

Tom was looking at Hagrid now. Harry barely noticed.

"What did he say to Snape, Hagrid?"

"He – well, he –"

Hagrid gave a great sob. More tears were streaming down his face as he clutched a goblet in his hand so tightly that it was starting to bend out of shape.

"All righ', I'll tell yeh," Hagrid said roughly, crying heavily all the while, "I can't keep it to meself much longer anyway... Dumbeldore, he... well, he s-said 'bout summat about when - when 'after he's been killed'... he got in'errupted by Snape say-saying he didn't want to do it anymore, that he might have – have changed his mind. I dunno what it means Harry, I – I dunno..."

Hagrid's words were cut short as he began sobbing uncontrollably, leaning forward to bury his face in his hands.

"Hagrid," Harry said seriously, "You can't mean... you can't mean Dumbledore's going to die?"

"I shouldn't have said tha'," Hagrid croaked, appearing even more distressed at the idea. "I'm sorry Harry, it ain't fair on yeh... Yeh can't tell no one, Harry..."

Harry was in shock. All he could do was stare at Hagrid, a sickening sensation washing over him as he hoped, so deeply while this terrified him, that Hagrid might be mistaken. He felt dizzy, as if none of his surroundings were real at all. It didn't help when Tom tore his gaze from Hagrid to stare at Harry once more. There was a look of mad happiness in his wide, wild eyes, but nowhere else. Harry was in no state to make sense of it.

"I – I should go," Harry managed, standing up. His hands were shaking but he tried to hide it. Tom stood too. "It's alright Hagrid..."

Hagrid might not have heard him. He continued crying where he sat; Harry couldn't help him. He was leaving Hagrid's hut before he knew it, throwing the Invisibility Cloak over his shoulders before he stepped outside. He neither spoke to nor looked around for Tom as he headed up towards the castle. The door was still open. He might have been relieved, but he didn't even notice. He was heading up flights of stairs blindly, wanting nothing else but to get to his dormitory.

He took off the Invisibility Cloak and stuffed it in his pocket on his way into the Common Room. It was full of students enjoying the freedom of Friday night, talking loudly and happily about things Harry had no interest in hearing. He wanted to go and hide in his dormitory, to not speak to anyone.

"Harry," Hermione called from a chair nearby.

She was on her own. Harry's heart sank, but guilt captured him too. She looked a bit down on her own, doing nothing but reading, while Ron was occupied by Lavender across the room. Harry didn't know how much more he could take; he wanted to comfort Hermione, but he couldn't take what he had just learnt...

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked him, sounding concerned. From her expression, he could tell she knew he wasn't feeling well at all.

"I – yeah, I'm fine..."

"Where were you?"

"I..."

"What's happened?"

Her tone was serious and more worried than ever, but all Harry could do was shake his head.

"Harry -"

"I just want to go to bed," he told her. "I'm sorry..."

He turned away from her, embarrassed as he felt a lump in his throat forming. He ignored the crowds of people around him, not looking up at anyone. To his relief, the dormitory was quiet and empty. He stood for a minute, unsure what he should do with himself. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a reflection of Tom entering the room. He didn't look up, but at his presence Harry couldn't take it. He turned to anger, as if to run from sorrow.

"He's a liar!" Harry shouted, not caring that his voice was too loud. "Dumbledore, he – he's a complete fool!"

Tom said nothing. His footsteps slowed before he came to a stop, examining Harry form afar.

"What could be possibly be playing at?" Harry asked through gritted teeth. "He knows it's Malfoy! He knows something is going on, but he won't do a thing about it!"

"He must have a reason," Tom said quietly.

"Like what? He knows about Snape too, but he didn't listen to what I said about the Unbreakable Vow!"

"That is quite peculiar."

"Does he not realise what the Vow meant? If he knows what Malfoy's up to – He's a fucking fool!"

"Well," Tom said, leaning against a post of Ron's bed, "apparently we won't have to suffer his idiocy for long."

Harry glowered at him. Tom appeared confused, forcing Harry to look away.

"Do you not wish for Dumbledore to die?"

"I – of course I don't!"

Tom's head was tilted to the side. "Why, then, are you angry with him?"

"I'm not – I don't –"

Harry couldn't explain. His eyes were burning. He turned away from Tom for a moment, running his hand through his hair roughly as he took a seat on the end of his bed. He wasn't going to cry, not now. He kept reminding himself again and again, as he buried his face in his hands, that Hagrid could have heard Dumbledore wrong, he could have been mistaken. The thought ran through his mind so many times that it started to lose it's meaning, sounding like a dull rhythm.

"Why don't Dumbledore listen to me?" Harry asked in frustration, not truly expecting an answer. "If he knows something is going to happen to him, if he isn't well and he expects to be killed, then..."

He drifted off, staring unseeingly at the floor as realisation dawned upon him.

"Malfoy..." he murmured in a shaky voice. "He's going to kill Dumbledore..."

As the words left his mouth, Harry felt a paralysing sense of shock and disbelief weighing upon him. He couldn't breathe normally, he couldn't think.

"The poison," he whispered, "the cursed necklace... they were all going to Dumbledore, weren't they?"

Tom appeared only a little affected by all of this; he was more sombre than usual. He inclined his head in wordless agreement.

"Why won't he stop Malfoy?" Harry asked, trying to hide his despairing tone. "There's enough evidence – he has the Dark Mark! Maybe if I tell Dumbledore about the Room of Req-"

"No."

Tom appeared calm, but his voice was forceful.

"Why not?" Harry asked. "He needs to know before it's too late!"

"I don't believe there is enough evidence. The Dark Mark alone proves very little, after all."

"It proves he's a Death Eater!"

"To Dumbledore, perhaps," Tom said, "and to those who recognise the mark like Snape, or some other Order members. Yet we don't know what Draco is doing. I believe that, most likely, Dumbledore is perfectly aware of what's going on."

"Then why isn't he doing anything?" Harry asked, his voice annoyed and panicked.

"Fewer will believe Draco is working for the Dark Lord if we do not wait until we have more evidence."

This didn't make sense to Harry in the least, but be refrained from saying this as a greater problem crossed his mind. "The longer we wait, the more Dumbledore is at risk – along with everyone else!"

"I know," Tom said softly, "but I don't believe there is much you can do at the moment."

Harry wished this wasn't so. His fingers were curled into claws as he ran his hands through his hair again, sitting forwards on his bed. He didn't know how to deal with any of this. He couldn't believe that any of this was actually happening...

"You're tired," Tom commented. "I must apologise, for it is I who is to be blamed for this."

"How?" Harry asked in a muffled voice, rubbing his face with his hands.

"I've been with you for a while, since you began following Draco. It takes up our energy to be visible for that long."

Harry looked up. It suddenly occurred to him how odd it was that Tom was able to sit in Hagrid's Hut with him without being seen, and that the first year Slytherins and Malfoy hadn't seen him either.

"What are you?" Harry asked.

"A wizard," Tom answered once more, smiling.

This managed to annoy Harry. "Well, if you're taking up all my energy... maybe you should go."

Tom didn't seem to mind. "If you wish."

Harry was unable to stop his expression from showing irritation and impatience.

"Before I leave, however, I would like to remind you of one thing."

"Yeah?"

"If something is going on between Dumbledore and Malfoy, concerning Snape too in some way, I hope you understand that you won't stand a chance protecting your thoughts from your Professors. It is dangerous that you know these secrets... I stress, for what will not have been the first time, that you continue to read the books I gave you. Knowledge is, in times like this, your only protection."

Tom's gaze was serious. Harry, despite still being full of anger and sorrow, felt a surge of fear at the things Tom suggested. He had no idea what Dumbledore was up to, but Snape, more than anything, worried Harry. He had made the Unbreakable Vow to help Malfoy in some way, after promising Draco's mother that he would... If he read Harry's mind now, to see what he was thinking, a whole number of bad things could happen...

What troubled Harry next, and most of all, was that the books Tom had given him were not only full of twisted, dark magic, but were vastly complex, to the point where Harry had to read sentences again and again just to find their meaning. Occlumency and Legilimency weren't quite as sinister as other subjects, but they definitely were amongst the most difficult pieces of magic Harry had seen...

"Goodnight," Tom said, standing up straighter. "Follow my advice and have a good rest; you need it."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but as soon as he blinked, Tom was gone.

He was left alone, and not for the first time, with nothing but the books hidden beneath his bed as company. The moment Tom disappeared, Harry began to cry.


	10. Horcruxes

10 - Horcruxes

Harry was struggling to concentrate. His eyes were fixed determinedly on the written words before him, but the meaning of sentences as a whole slipped through his mind before he could grasp them properly. He had forced himself for days on end to try and read these books, for Tom, for safely, and out of fear, but still he hadn't learnt a thing about Occlumency or Legilimency beyond the basics. He felt like a fool. He pressed his palms to his forehead, taking in deep breaths to prepare himself for another, more determined, attempt.

It was to no avail. The book was too complex, it said too many things all at once and on top of that, it was immensely long. Harry could feel the stress building within him, which only made it more difficult to understand the subject. If he didn't learn all of this as soon as he could, a lot of bad things could happen. Snape and Dumbledore could read every thought he had, they could find out about the Half-Blood Prince and Tom and every other secret Harry wanted to keep safe from other people.

Harry closed his eyes, struggling. He wanted to give up for the night, but it hadn't been twenty minutes since he started this, and his time was limited. Between school-work, talking to Ron and Hermione, chasing after Malfoy, worrying about Dumbledore, and trying to actually get some sleep, Harry was worn out. He only had forty minutes, at the very most, before Ron and Hermione would start looking for him.

"Feeling stressed?"

Harry's eyes flew open. His head snapped up in alarm to see Tom sitting next to him, clearly amused.

"What are you doing there?" Harry asked, trying – and failing – to seem unsurprised.

"I thought I might pop in to say hello," Tom said, still smiling. "I wanted to see how you were getting on with your work."

"Oh, right," Harry said awkwardly, "Well... it's been going alright, I guess."

Tom didn't ask for details on what Harry knew, or what he was learning now. Instead, his eyes lowered to the book in Harry's lap. Harry felt the colour rise in his face, knowing that Tom was going to see he had barely started to read at all. In an immediate reaction, he closed the pages with a muffled '_bang'_.

"I shan't judge you on how far you've gotten," Tom told him lightly. "What is relevant is not how much you've learnt, but how well you've learnt it."

That wouldn't leave Harry in any better position, in truth. His eyebrows twitched in confusion at Tom's words, which he was sure Tom noticed, yet he couldn't be sure. He was looking away, still somewhat startled by Tom's presence and embarrassed by his eagerness to pry.

"Why are you here?" Harry asked, not caring that he was changing the subject.

"I felt as though you might appreciate some help with all of this."

"It's just reading. I can manage that on my own."

"How about a lesson?" Tom asked, his head tilting a little to the side. His eyes were ever-staring. "I know the subject well, after all."

Harry hadn't expected this. He thought it over for a moment, before shaking his head. "They tried to teach me Occlumency before, the Order. I was awful at it, I don't think I'd be any better with a lesson from you."

"Yet it was Severus Snape who taught you last. I dare say he was hardly trying to protect you, for reasons neither of us are in any position to guess at this time."

"What, you think Snape had orders from Voldemort to not teach me Occlumency properly?" Harry suddenly asked. The idea had crosses his mind many times; Tom's opinion was crucial to him.

Tom was silent for a moment before answering, his gaze thoughtful. "Well, let us merely settle with: the theory is not completely improbable. Whether or not Snape is or isn't on Dumbledore's side, he may not have thought it was wise to anger Lord Voldemort by trying too hard."

"Or Snape just hates me," Harry added, looking down at the closed book in his hands. He was thinking about how odd it was that Tom spoke about Voldemort as if he were a completely different person. It made him feel oddly comfortable, which he didn't want Tom to see.

"Back to my question, however, would you like to try having lessons with me?"

Harry looked up. "Well, we could try, I guess. It can't be as bad as Snape teaching me, anyway."

Tom seemed satisfied to hear it. With a smile, he stood up, moving across the room. They were in an empty study room not far from the Gryffindor Common Room. There was nothing in here except a battered old bookshelf, two large, square tables with chairs haphazardly left near them, the couch Harry stood up from, a few tapestries, and tall, bright windows that give a view of a balcony outside, as well as the beautiful, sunlit grounds of Hogwarts.

Harry was sure Tom was a powerful Legilimens – probably as good as Voldemort was now. Snape had described Voldemort as being the best Legilimens the wizarding world had ever known. A feeling of uneasiness passed through Harry as he reflected that Tom surely knew what he was thinking most of the time. It made him a little more eager to protect his mind.

Tom was facing him a few feet away, standing up tall and proudly. Harry attempted to do the same thing, wondering if this would be like Snape's lessons.

"I shall begin with teaching you Occlumency first," Tom told him without delay. "Legilimency can wait until after you've gained a considerable amount of skill in shielding your mind."

"Why?" Harry asked, disappointed that he wouldn't be learning both at once. He had been playing idly with the idea that he'd soon be able to read the minds of his friends, teachers, enemies, and (perhaps being all three of those things) of Tom.

"It is crucial that you are able to defend your mind against the likes of Dumbledore, Snape, and other Legilimens. If they are to discover any of what I am teaching you, any of the meetings we have had together, it could end badly for the both of us. I trust you understand."

Harry did understand, in truth. He nodded. He'd at least be able to stop Tom, as well as others, from reading his thoughts, which was enough to make him let go of disappointment. He'd be safe this way. He'd be protected from everyone else and he was sure that Tom would happily teach him Legilimency afterwards, as a second way of ensuring things remained smooth.

"Now, allow me to begin this lesson by explaining a few simple things..."

– X –

The lesson ended with some success after a solid hour of trying. It went well enough that Tom insisted they have another lesson the following day. For as many days possible during the next few weeks, Harry visited empty classrooms and study-rooms where Tom could show up, undisturbed, to teach him more. He found that with each passing day, he was steadily learning how to defend his mind more than Snape had ever allowed him to.

"You've done it!" Tom exclaimed one evening, his lips curled into a genuine grin. "You almost have it completely under your control. Now, for the next few attempts I'm going to go easy on you, but only so you can master the technique through understanding exactly how your shield works. Like a muscle never often used, you must build up your ability slowly, understanding how to trigger it..."

Encouraged by Tom's enthusiasm and joy at seeing him succeed, Harry found the next half an hour of training to be easier than ever, to his satisfaction. He was able to throw off Tom's '_Legilimens_' spell completely. Although it was – so far – a weak attempt, it was progress nonetheless.

"This is brilliant," Harry panted, taking a seat on a nearby desk to catch his breath. They were in an empty classroom on the third floor. "It's difficult, really difficult, but it feels brilliant to finally have some success with all of this!"

Tom smiled softly, leaning against the same table, looking out at the view through the windows close to them. It was night-time and a high moon was out, while the stars shone brightly throughout the sky.

"It is a relief that you're determined enough to succeed quickly with all of this," Tom said. "I can satisfactorily say that I predict you'll be able to hide your mind, at least, from any prying others from this point on. Most of all, if you remember instructions."

"I will," Harry swore, grinning.

"Good." Tom returned his smile, his attention drawn completely away from the window now.

"You're a better teacher than Snape ever was," Harry said, glad for a chance to insult Snape while praising Tom. "Even if he had tried, I don't think he'd be as good as you."

"Why?" Tom asked, his head tilting a little to the side again.

"Snape hates me," Harry said, "and I don't like him either."

Tom thought about this for a moment.

"What is it?" Harry asked in response to his puzzlement.

"Do you like me?" Tom asked.

Harry's heart seemed to skip a beat. He realised, then, that Tom was staring at him, so he dropped his gaze. "I – er... Well, anyone's better than Snape."

He had no idea what this might sound like. It depended on whether Tom was asking if he liked him as a person or if he meant it like something else. Harry doubted, now, that Tom could have meant the latter. He wished he had given a better answer.

Tom seemed to feel the same. "Well, that's no answer at all."

"You're a great teacher," Harry said, "I just – I don't know what you are."

"A wizard," Tom muttered, "much like yourself. I've said it before."

Harry barely heard him say it. He attempted to shrug, wishing Tom wouldn't stare at him unblinkingly like that.

"Harry?"

"What?"

Tom was silent for a time. He watched Harry carefully, his face illuminated in the soft torchlight. His gaze became gentle after a moment or two of scanning the characteristics of Harry's face, and a smile formed on the edge of his lips. Harry could see that he was breathing evenly, perhaps waiting for him to ask again what Tom wanted. But Harry never did, in fear of Tom coming too close to him. A cold, spidery hand rested on top of his own.

Harry stood up, moving away. He didn't care what Tom had meant to say next, but this clearly confused him, for his eyes were large once more, his stare as unmoving, and a crease formed between his eyebrows. He watched Harry as if gathering information every second. Harry's heart was beating quickly. He wasn't sure why he was so affected by all of this.

"I should go," he said, "Ron and Hermione will be looking for me."

Tom stood up too. His expression slipped away. "If you wish."

"Yeah... Bye, then. Thanks for the lesson..."

Without waiting for Tom to disappear first, Harry headed for the exit of the classroom.

The corridor was cold, but Harry barely noticed it as he marched onwards. His heart was still in a flutter of emotion; he felt like his body was betraying him. His eyes adored the sight of Tom's high cheekbones and dark eyes, his ears heard every breath and sound that escaped Tom's lips, his hand could still feel where Tom's cold touch had been...

Harry was embarrassed as he reflected that Tom knew his every thought. He probably noticed all of these reactions in Harry, he probably knew how to manipulate him because of it... Harry didn't allow himself to think for one moment that Tom actually liked him. He wasn't even real, he probably just wanted to see what he could do to watch him struggle.

Thoroughly embarrassed and confused about the night as a whole, Harry returned to the Gryffindor Common Room right away. He found Hermione sitting alone by the fire, reading a book he didn't bother to check the title of. He fell heavily into his eat.

"Where's Ron?" he asked, glad to be close to the roaring fire of this non-deserted, familiar room.

"Thanks to you, he's sulking," Hermione answered. "I'm surprised you don't know that already."

"Why, what's happened?"

"You were supposed to meet him at the Quidditch pitch hours ago," she reminded him, her eyebrows raised. You didn't go, clearly, and it's put him in such an awful mood."

"Oh," Harry said, his eyes widening, "I, er, forgot. What'd he say?"

Hermione took in a deep breath, perhaps in annoyance. "I didn't hear much from him, to be honest."

Harry slumped back into his chair. "I'm sorry, Hermione, I completely forgot."

"I'm not the one you should be apologising to. Where were you, anyway?"

"I was studying," he lied. "I had a lot of work to finish. Er, and I still have a lot more to do."

She stared at him incredulously. "Honestly, you should at _least_ be able to stay on top of your school-work if you're going to annoy Ron as well!"

Harry was relieved that she believed his lie, at the very least. "I'm sorry, I'll go talk to him about it."

"Wait," she said, before he could stand up, "There's one more thing."

"Yeah?"

She opened her mouth a few times, struggling to find the right wording.

"What is it?"

"It's just, a few weeks back you looked stressed almost every single day, but you never explained why. Now you're all happy, for no reason. Well, except for tonight, of course."

"What's your point?"

"My point is," she said, appearing attentive, "it seems as if you keep disappearing to go meet up with someone, and I know you haven't been stalking Malfoy lately."

Harry felt the colour drain from his face. Had she followed him? Had she found him talking to Tom – or, just as badly, to a seemingly empty room, learning all about Occlumency these few weeks? Hermione was watching him closely and when he began to pale; it proved something vital to her.

"It's alright if you're seeing someone," he said kindly, smiling a bit now.

Harry didn't understand why she was smiling. He didn't understand this at all. "Er, well, I -"

"You don't need to tell me, it's alright," she said, turning back to her book with that same smirk. "Just don't do what Ron did with Lavender, making our lives hell by snogging all over the place."

"Oh," Harry said, suddenly relieved. "No - I won't."

"I won't tell Ron, either, if you'd rather keep it a secret," she said with a knowing look.

"Er, thanks, Hermione," he said, thinking wildly. Would this be the perfect excuse he needed to keep disappearing without reason? "It's late though, I think I should go up to see Ron, now."

Hermione didn't object. They said goodnight at this, before Harry turned for the boys' dormitory.

Ron was asleep when he entered the room. Harry felt a sense of relief that didn't fully obscure his other feelings of dread, confusion, and worry. Should he continue lying to Hermione that he was dating someone, for convenience? He didn't know if it was a smart idea or not. He was glad that he had until tomorrow morning, at least, before he had to talk to Ron, but he worried now that Hermione wouldn't listen if he tried to explain that he wasn't dating anyone – she'd want another excuse.

Harry sat on the edge of his bed, feeling more stressed than ever before. He didn't know what Tom wanted from him, he didn't know if Ron would forgive him for forgetting about him entirely, and he didn't know if Hermione would keep prying into his business like this or if she'd leave him alone once she got used to seeing less of him. Harry pressed his palms against his forehead, hard, trying to work all of this out. For the entire evening, he didn't get one answer.

He was glad to find the next morning that Hermione didn't say a word to him or Ron about the possibility of Harry seeing someone, but Harry was sure this was only because Hermione didn't want to bug Ron further. He was pissed off at Harry for the entire day, which made Harry feel guilty and annoyed too. He was too paranoid about Tom to try and start an Occlumency lesson today.

He couldn't avoid Tom forever, however. It was after Defence Against the Dark Arts on Monday morning when Harry got another wave of fear so strong from Snape that he knew, once more, he had to take Occlumency lessons. When he returned to Tom he was nervous and hesitant, but Tom acted as if nothing unusual had happened during their last lesson. Their practice went on like normal, even if Harry felt more stressed and irritable than ever.

His irritation spread out towards Ron and Hermione too, but Ron (after forgiving him for missing their private Quidditch practice), didn't bother commenting on it, and Hermione knew she would only annoy Harry further by asking what was up. One sunny afternoon, the three of them stood outside on the courtyard after lunch, talking. Hermione suggested, for what hadn't been the first time, that Harry should try talking to Slughorn after Potions class while Ron and Hermione took their Apparition tests.

"Fifty-seventh time lucky, you think?" Harry asked dryly.

"Lucky," Ron repeated, looking thunderstruck. "Harry, that's it – get lucky!"

"What d'you mean?"

"Use your Lucky Potion!"

"Ron, that's – that's it!" Hermione exclaimed with even more enthusiasm. "Of course! Why didn't I think of it?"

Harry's stomach squirmed as he watched them both. "Felix Felicis? I dunno... I was sort of saving it..."

"What for?" Ron asked, perplexed.

"What on earth is more important than this memory, Harry?" Hermione added.

Harry didn't know what he was supposed to say to this. He was too distracted by his own thoughts to think of a lie; he had intended to save the Lucky Potion for an emergency, as a sort of safeguard for if things with Tom didn't work out. It was to make sure that he had something he could resort to if Draco was close to killing Dumbledore, if Snape began prying into Harry's secrets, or if Ron and Hermione found out more than they should know.

"Harry? Are you still with us?"

"Wha-? Yeah, of course," he said, shaking his head to get his thoughts straight. "Well... Okay. If I can't get Slughorn to talk this afternoon, I'll take some Felix and have another go this evening."

"That's decided, then," Hermione said happily, getting to her feet.

They didn't talk about the matter much more during the remainder of their break. The bell rang after a few more minutes of conversation and Ron and Hermione hurried off to their Apparition test nervously. Harry failed to corner Slughorn after Potion's class, but when he met up with Ron and Hermione later in the day, they devised a plan for Harry to go talk to him with the help of Felix Felicis.

The evening was a success. The moment Harry took the potion, feelings of dread, anxiety, fear, and worry all fell from him as if he had taken off a thick, heavy travelling cloak after forgetting it was there for weeks on end. He felt light and full of energy, hope, excitement, and joy. Slughorn gave up the memory at Hagrid's hut, slipping into a sorrowful sleep before Harry's eyes. Harry left the hut without delay, his luck wearing out but his eagerness overpowering.

He raced through he entrance hall and up several flights of stairs. He stopped at the portrait of the Fat Lady, enduring a short conversation before finding out, from a wandering Nearly Headless Nick, that Dumbledore had returned to Hogwarts an hour ago. Harry's heart leapt and a grin spread across his face as he left the Fat Lady and Nearly Headless Nick, intent upon having a meeting with Dumbledore.

Dumbledore welcomed him into his office wearily, pulling out of his exhaustion only when he heard Harry had retrieved the memory from Slughorn. They visited the memory together without delay. They saw the full event of young Tom Riddle talking with Slughorn, they saw their discussion of Horcruxes and the mad look in Tom Riddle's eyes after it. When it was finished, Harry was stunned.

He thought about Tom in the silence that followed the memory. His eyes drifted up to the portraits of the old headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts, who were listening keenly to the conversation between him and Dumbledore. He knew he shouldn't risk thinking about Tom right here, but he couldn't help it. There was something about Slughorn's explanation of Horcruxes that had set Harry on edge.

"Well, Harry," Dumbledore began, "I'm sure you understood the significance of what we just heard. At the same age as you are now, give or take a few months, Tom Riddle was doing all he could to find out how to make himself immortal."

"You think he succeeded then, sir? He made a Horcrux?" Harry asked. "And that's why he didn't die when he attacked me? He had a Horcrux hidden somewhere? A bit of his soul was safe?"

"A bit... or more," Dumbledore answered. "You heard Voldemort: what he particularly wanted from Horace was an opinion on what would happen to the wizard so determined to evade death that he would be prepared to murder many times, rip his soul repetitively, so as to store it in many, separately concealed Horcruxes. No book would have given him that information. As far as I know – as far, I am sure, as Voldemort knew – no wizard had ever done more than tear his soul in two."

Dumbledore took a moment to let this settle in, apparently preparing himself for his next words. "Four years ago, I received what I considered certain proof that Voldemort had split his soul."

"Where?" Harry asked, alarmed. "How?"

"You handed it to me, Harry. The diary, Riddle's diary, the one giving instructions on how to reopen the Chamber of Secrets."

"I don't understand, sir."

"Well, although I did not see the Riddle who came out of the diary, what you described to me was a phenomenon I had never witnessed. A mere memory starting to act and think for itself? A mere memory, sapping the life out of a girl into who's hands it had fallen? No, something much more sinister had lived in that book..."

Harry felt a sinking sensation tear through his inner body, moving between his lungs and stunning them for a moment. His eyes dropped from Dumbledore's instantly, giving him the chance to pull off his sudden deep concern as if it was mere confusion on his behalf. Tom...

"A fragment of soul," Dumbledore carried on, "I was almost sure of it. The diary had been a Horcrux. But this raised as many questions as it answered. What intrigued me and alarmed me most was that that diary had been intended as a weapon as much as a safeguard."

"I still don't understand," Harry said, trying not to sound monotonic.

"Well, it worked as a Horcrux is supposed to work – in other words, the fragment of soul concealed inside it was kept safe and had undoubtedly played its part in preventing the death of its owner. There there could be no doubt that Riddle really wanted that diary read, wanted the piece of his soul to inhabit or possess somebody else, so that Slytherin's monster would be unleashed again."

"Well, he didn't want his hard work to be wasted. He wanted people to know he was Slytherin's heir, because he couldn't take credit at the time."

"Quite correct," Dumbledore said, nodding. Harry couldn't help but notice, however, that a look of slight surprise crossed his face. "But don't you see, Harry, that if he intended the diary to passed to, on planted on, some future Hogwarts student, he was being remarkably blasé about the precious fragment of his soul concealed within it. The point of a Horcrux is, as Professor Slughorn explained, to keep part of the self hidden and safe, not to fling it into somebody else's path and run the risk that they might destroy it – as indeed happened..."

Harry's mind was wandering elsewhere. It was easy for him to look away and think about Tom while Dumbledore continued talking, telling him everything he needed to know about Horcruxes. The things Dumbledore said about Tom from the diary struck fear in Harry for one reason: it reminded him of his Tom. It made him realise, yet again, that there was something wrong about the way Tom appeared, the way he acted, the way he returned to Harry like a ghost...

"...Then you told me, two years later, that on the night that Voldemort returned to his body, he made a most illuminating and alarming statement to his Death Eaters. '_I, who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality.'_ That was what you told me he said. '_Further than anybody.'_ And I thought I knew what that meant, though the Death Eaters did not. He was referring to his Horcruxes, Horcruxes in the plural, Harry, which I do not believe any other wizard has ever had."

So the diary was just one... Harry felt physically ill. Did that mean that the Tom he knew was the 'ghost' of another Horcrux? Did that mean that Tom had tracked Harry down and he was stalking him at this very moment, trying to possess him like he had possessed Ginny before the Chamber of Secrets was opened? Memories from one of their conversations drifted back to Harry, from the night Hagrid admitted knowledge about Dumbledore's ill health... "_You're tired,_" Tom had commented. "_I must apologise, for it is I who is to be blamed for this..._"

Harry had to try very, very hard not to look terrified in front of Dumbledore.

"Yet it fitted: Lord Voldemort had seemed to grow less human with the passing years, and the transformation he had undergone seemed to me to be only explicable if his soul was mutilated beyond the realms of what we might call usual evil..."

The rest of his talk with Dumbledore was a blur. Harry tried his best to sound interested and to hide his true feelings, but it was with all the effort he could manage. When he finally had the chance to leave, his head was spinning. He did everything he could to not run across the office, to rip open the door to the spiral staircase. Instead, he left the room calmly, numbly, blindly.

He felt as if he was going to be sick when he reached the stone gargoyle. He wished for one terrible moment that he hadn't left Dumbledore's office, he wished almost that he had admitted everything to his Headmaster – the dreams, the appearances, the invisibility, and the lessons from Tom – but he couldn't change that now. His hands and limbs were shaking badly as he stood in the corridor, hesitating. Finally, he decided to return to the Gryffindor Common Room as quickly as possible.

Of course Tom was linked to the Horcruxes. Of course he was the same as Ginny's Tom had been – manipulative in every way, intent upon causing harm, intent upon making Harry pour his heart out – so why hadn't Harry seen it sooner? His mouth was dry, his breath was heavy as he listened to each of his own hurried, echoing footsteps. He was tense. He kept his vision averted from the view in front of him...

Tom was manipulating him. He was playing with his emotions, playing on his fears and insecurities. Harry had to tell someone as soon as possible – Ron, Hermione, anyone – even _Neville_, if it came to that. Harry was in half a mind to turn back to Dumbledore, but he knew it was too late for it. He needed to get somewhere, anywhere, close to people. His footsteps quickened. He needed someone to know where he was, because if he was left alone here, he was going to be found...

It felt like a terrifying dream. Harry drifted in and out of the patches of moonlight that shone through the tall windows of Hogwarts castle. He kept his eyes fixed firmly on the ground in front of him, his jaw clenched. Lord Voldemort was living inside his head. Harry's breathing strained further, his shaking hands worsening. Lord Voldemort was visiting him, alone, at night, and he wanted no one else to know about the little meetings they had. He was teaching him magic, illegal, powerful magic, involving some books that Harry knew were wrong...

He was taking advantage of Harry's distance from Ron and Hermione, of Dumbledore's disregard for Harry's theories that Malfoy and Snape were after him. He was pulling Harry further away from the friends and teachers who thought he was taking his paranoia too far. Harry felt a moment of anger, of stress from this entire situation. Tom was taking advantage of his loneliness, of his admiration for the other boy's charm. Harry broke into a run.

He was almost near the Gryffindor Common Room. Just one more flight of stairs, three more corridors. Harry rounded a corner and nearly screamed in terror. But it wasn't Tom, it was Nearly Headless Nick again. Harry had reached for his wand, but stared now in shock.

"My dear boy, I mean no harm to you!" Nick said in surprise at the sight of his panic. "Why, you look as pale as a ghost - I nearly mistook that grim face for the Bloody Baron's!"

Harry hastily took his hand away from his pocket, trying to look as though he hadn't just been terrified beyond belief, reacting with violence. He couldn't find his own voice.

"I suppose, due to the passing of time, you have indeed spoken with Dumbledore," Nearly Headless Nick commented, a kind smile forming on his ghostly face. "Knowing that man, and seeing that troubled expression, I can safely assume you'll want to be left to your own thoughts."

"Yeah," Harry managed breathlessly, "Er... thanks..."

Nearly Headless Nick inclined his head politely, humming a merry little song as he drifted off along the corridor. Harry made a mistake in waiting for his humming to fade away. He was standing alone in the corridor. When he looked up, Tom was waiting patiently, only a few feet ahead of him.

Harry began violently backing away, trembling and almost falling over in his attempts. It was worse than seeing any ghost, being visited by any Dementor. He reached for his wand properly this time, not yet daring to take his eyes off of young Voldemort. Tom advanced.

"Harry -"

"S-stay away from me!" Harry shouted, his eyes wide and his breathing heavy, audible, and painful. Nearly Headless Nick was too far away to hear the noise.

"Harry, don't do this -"

"I know what you are!" Harry warned him, "I – I know what you'll do! I -"

"You're mistaken."

Tom was calm, unfazed, but Harry didn't buy it. It was only more terrifying.

"You're one of them! You're one of the – the Horcruxes Voldemort made," Harry said shakily, still backing away. "You're trying to take my power just like you took Ginny's! I know it!"

"Harry, stop."

"Stay away from me!"

"If you'd listen -"

"DON'T!"

"Harry -"

_BANG!_

His spell missed Tom by inches. The next thing Harry knew, a spell shot right back at him with just as much force, despite the fact that Tom was unarmed. He disarmed Harry, and with an echoing clatter, his wand fell to the ground several feet away. Harry stood and stared. He felt more alert than ever now his wand was gone, but there was nothing he could do. Tom continued taking slow, steady steps towards him.

"I am not the diary," he said softly, holding Harry's gaze. "I am not the snake Dumbledore spoke of, nor the cup, nor the locket. There has been no item thrust into your possession that could possibly possess you by extent. Believe in this."

"Why should I believe that?" Harry asked incredulously. "Why should I believe a word you say?"

"Have I caused you any harm?" Tom asked.

Harry didn't respond. The answer depended on whether Tom was a part of Voldemort, or whether he was his own person entirely.

"I have helped you," Tom said, "to defend yourself against those who would rather leave your mind vulnerable. I have helped you gain information on both Draco Malfoy and the connections he and Snape have to the attempted murders of Albus Dumbledore. I have reminded you to not frighten your two friends, to not crave their approval if they're unwilling to believe in a word that you say..."

Tom was closer to him now, wonder and slight annoyance crossing his face.

"So why, after all of this, do you fear me? Why do you treat me with caution, as if I am the Lord Voldemort that you know, as if I am the diary Horcrux that, years ago, attempted to sap the life out of a young girl who's heart was vulnerable?"

Tom's gaze was so demanding, so curious to hear these answers, it was almost frightening. He didn't want to hurt Harry (if he wanted that, he would have done it long ago), but Harry was scared of giving the wrong answer for the faintest second.

"Because you can't be real," Harry said in a low voice. He was confused, now, to find that Tom was right in reminding him that he had never hurt him. He was trying to protect him. There was just one thing wrong. "You appear out of nowhere, you tell me you've been here all my life, and you expect me to just accept that and move on. I don't know what you are. I don't know if you're even real or if you're just some sort of – I dunno – imaginary person that I've completely made up..."

"I am real," Tom said quietly.

Harry thought this over for the fainted second, but shook his head. "I don't believe you."

Tom had succeeded in calming Harry down, but he couldn't convince him he was anything more than an odd spirit.

"Can't you see me?" Tom asked. "Can't you see I'm as real as anything else around you?"

"No one else can see you," Harry pointed out. "That's all the evidence I need."

What Tom did next shot panic through Harry again. He took his hand.

"You can hear me," Tom reminded him very clearly, "you can feel me, Harry. I don't appear for anyone else because I don't want to be found by anyone else. But look – I'm real."

Harry tried to tug his hand away. "No, you're not -"

"I am. I've always been."

"You're not!" Harry explained, his heart hammering. "Let me go, it's just magic, there's no way you could be -"

Tom took several more steps forwards, until he was close enough to touch Harry's face.

"Listen to me..."

His fingers held the base of Harry's chin softly, his second hand entwined in Harry's now unmoving fingers still. Harry breathed heavily, alarmed by both Tom's swiftness as the crashing waves of emotion that tore through him at seeing him so close. He was looking down at Harry from only a few inches away, searching deeply in his eyes for something.

"I am real," Tom said in a quiet, serious voice. "Can you not see this is true?"

Harry could hear every breath he took, could see the pulse in his neck from his beating heart. Tom's hands were cold and delicate, but there was no denying they were real too. The pressure on Harry's held hand was too convincing. The look in Tom's eyes was too full of determination and care about the situation. He can't be a mere apparition. He wasn't like the diary Tom.

"If you cannot trust your senses, cannot trust your judgement, what is there to trust?" Tom asked him. "You know that I am here, now..."

"I..." Harry was still deeply troubled by all of this. There was an odd, calming atmosphere that seemed to radiate from Tom, dulling Harry's fear, anger, worry, and resistance.

"Look at me," Tom asked of him.

Harry did so. His stomach fluttered nervously when a soft smile overtook Tom's face under his gaze. Tom was still holding him closely, protectively, and when he sensed the emotion in Harry, this only deepened. The next thing Harry knew, Tom kissed him once, softly.

He was completely unable to move. Tom hesitated a few inches away, his breathing slow, sending Harry's mind even deeper into a sense of unreality. Tom's hand moved down his neck, his long, thin fingers tracing Harry's skin as his lips encased Harry's once more. This time Harry responded. He was unable to resist any longer, caught up in a whirl of desire to be closer to Tom still, to allow this kiss to carry on.

When they parted, Tom's gaze was softer than ever, his gentle smile was fuelled by the look of trust and hope Harry gave him. His hand moved up again to cup Harry's face and he ran his thumb along Harry's jaw, sending further emotion soaring through him.

"Now you know," Tom said in a quiet voice. "I'm here to help you, to protect you, to be with you..."

He disappeared, moments later, after a single kiss. Harry felt him move away; when he looked up, he was alone.


	11. Motives

11 - Motives

The next morning, during Charms class, Harry give Ron and Hermione an overview of his meeting with Dumbledore. His description of Horcruxes was rather vague and rushed due to a loss of concentration, but he managed to tell them everything they wanted to know. By the end of it, they were lost for words, staring at him with amazement.

"Wow," was Ron's first reaction. He was waving his wand vaguely and casting a spell without realising it, making flakes of snow sprinkle down from a few feet above them. "Wow. You're actually going to go with Dumbledore... and try and destroy... wow."

"Ron, you're making it snow," said Hermione, an amused smile on her lips as she grabbed his wrist. When they lowered his wand, Harry spotted Lavender Brown glowering at them from across the room. Hermione hastily retracted her hand.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry," said Ron. "Looks like we've all got horrible dandruff now..."

No sooner had Ron begun brushing snow off of Hermione's shoulders, Lavender burst into tears. Ron looked even more guilty, turning away.

"We split up," he told Harry, "Last night. When she saw me coming out of the dormitory with Hermione. Obviously she couldn't see you, so she thought it had just been the two of us."

"Ah," said Harry. "Well – you don't mind it's over, do you?"

"No," he admitted. "It was pretty bad while she was yelling, but at least I didn't have to finish it."

"Coward," said Hermione, still smiling a bit somehow. "Well, it was a bad night for romance all round. Ginny and Dean split up too, Harry."

Harry was surprised. He wasn't sure why Hermione directed these words at him so specifically, nor why she gave him a very knowing look. He then remembered that she suspected he was seeing someone in secret. How she thought he was after Ginny, he had no idea.

"How come?" he asked.

"Oh, it was really sully... she said he was always trying to help her through the portrait hole, like she couldn't climb in herself... but they've been a bit rocky for ages."

Harry wondered if that had been his fault; he had seen them when he left the Gryffindor Common Room last night and he had heard them begin to argue. Dean certainly looked defeated and unhappy when Harry glanced at him.

"Of course, this puts you in a but of a dilemma, doesn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"The Quidditch team," Hermione reminded him. "If Ginny and Dean aren't speaking..."

"Oh – oh yeah," Harry said. In all honesty, he couldn't care any less about Quidditch now.

"Flitwick," Ron warned them.

As the Professor approached, their conversation was hastily dropped. Harry didn't bother to comment on it when, throughout the entire day, Ron and Hermione both showed signs of being secretly gleeful that Lavender was no longer a problem for them. They were so caught up in this new change that they didn't notice a different sort of change in Harry. His spirit had plummeted for the complete opposite reason.

He was unsure how he felt about Tom. Things were already so complicated, what with Dumbledore's explanation of Horcruxes and his desire to hunt down the rest of them; Harry wasn't sure if he wanted to be too close to Tom. Things were too dangerous. Harry was worried for hours, even as he tried to relax in the Common Room with Ron and Hermione. He wished Tom wasn't so eager to get to know him. He needed time to think...

He decided, after not much debate, that he should go up to his dormitory so Ron and Hermione could have time on their own. He was sure it's what they wanted. The dormitory was empty and he was thankful of it. It was early in the evening, only eight O'clock, and although the other Gryffindors might bother him every now and then, Harry would have peace until nine O'clock at least. He threw himself on his bed, exhausted from school.

As usual, some part of him wished he hadn't parted from Ron and Hermione's company. Whether he was near them or away from them, a part of him felt restless and bothered in some way. He couldn't decide what was worse, being left with his own thoughts or being constantly asked why he looked so down. Trying not to think about it, he reached for a distraction.

He had just begun getting comfortable again, pulling out a hidden book on Occlumency from under his bed, when he was disturbed by the last person he wanted to see so soon. Tom. He was sitting on the far end of Harry's bed, his expression pleasant and inoffensive, his general attitude relaxed. Harry tensed, as if to spite him.

"Hello," Tom greeted.

"Hey..."

"Am I bothering you?" he asked, his head tilting to the side somewhat. "Seeing as you withdrew that book so readily, I assumed you were hoping for a lesson from me."

"Well – well I just figured I may as well read while I sit here doing nothing."

"I wise choice," Tom smiled. "With the recent lesson from Dumbledore, I'm sure you are eager to begin defend yourself even more readily."

"Yeah, I am."

He was about to add that this is something he could do on his own, without any of Tom's help, but he stopped. Tom's smile had faded. For a moment, one fleeting second, he looked sadly at Harry. As soon as Harry noticed it, Tom sat up straighter, a new thought dawning on him.

"If Dumbledore wishes to bring you along on his hunt for Voldemort's Horcruxes, there is a lot of magic I can teach you, to help you defend yourself against dark enchantments above all. Voldemort will not have held back on his efforts to stop any prying souls from discovering and destroying his own shattered self."

Harry shifted uncomfortably where he sat. "Dumbledore's going to keep me safe from that. And anyway, it's not like I can't defend myself..."

"This is very dark magic, Harry. Magic that goes beyond anything you could possibly know-"

"I have Dumbledore, don't I? That's all the help I need."

Tom was staring at him in confusion, so much so that Harry had to look away. He knew Tom was trying to read his thoughts, to understand what he meant by all this.

"You're tense," Tom commented.

"Can't you see why? All of this talk about Horcruxes, about Voldemort being immortal..."

"No," Tom said quietly, "It's more than that."

Harry said nothing, flipping through the pages of the ancient book.

"You're afraid of me."

"Look, can you just drop it?" Harry asked. "There are more important things for me to be worried about right now, if you didn't notice."

"I explained to you what I am," Tom said, "I reminded you of the facts, of the way I have protected you, the way I differ from the Horcruxes Dumbledore describes -"

"I don't want to talk about this, Riddle."

This is where Harry made a mistake. Tom noticed his distance not in his actions, but in his scorning use of the name 'Riddle'.

"You're annoyed by what happened last night?"

Harry just looked away again, not wanting to have this conversation.

"You weren't like this before," Tom pointed out. He was troubled. "What changed?"

"I'm just – I don't want... that," Harry explained lamely.

Tom seemed to want to accept this without question, but he was struggling. "Why?"

"Well, why do you think? You show up out of nowhere and tell me you've been here my whole life, and suddenly you're telling me all these mad theories – telling me that my own best friends have turned against me – when you can't even explain what you really are. I just don't think I'm ready to believe everything you say, I'm not ready to – to be that close."

Tom didn't respond immediately, he took time to think things over. His first real response was inclining his head calmly. "I understand," he said. "Nevertheless, I hope you know that I care about your safety... I want to be here for you. I'm sorry to have shaken you in my haste."

"It's fine," Harry said awkwardly, at loss for anything else to say.

Tom seemed keen to move on from this, either to spare Harry's discomfort or his own – or both. His calmness managed to calm Harry too a bit, even as he began talking in a more businesslike tone.

"Now, have you much time to spare for a lesson?"

"Er, well I have some more homework to finish, but it can probably wait an hour or so."

"I don't suppose any of your classmates will return here so early? I'd suggest that we leave the Gryffindor Common Room to practice magic in a quieter part of the school, but it is unwise to risk questions following your absence. I believe we should spend today discussing the theory of Occlumency. Now..."

Without question, Tom began to explain the magic, summoning the book from Harry's hands and leaving it to hang in the air for them both to see. With Tom's explanations, the magic was easy to understand. They spent the whole evening like this. Harry understood a great deal more about the magic, until they were interrupted by Ron returning to the dormitory for good.

Throughout the following week Harry and Tom had lessons together without trouble. To Harry's relief, Tom never brought up the subject of the night they kissed, and nor did he make any comment at all on the fact that, more likely than not, he wished for them to be close in this way. They were beginning to get closer in another way with the magic Tom taught him next: a form of possession to not only help Harry learn more magic, but to help them use a combined force of magic to be even more powerful than they were divided.

"This isn't dark magic, is it?" Harry asked him as one of their lessons drew to a close. "I mean, possessing people isn't something that's normally taught at Hogwarts. I've never seen it used at all, unless you count the Imperius Curse Barty Crouch Jr. used, to teach us about the Unforgivable Curses."

"It's a very advanced branch of magic," Tom explained. "Only Seventh Years begin to learn about it fully, I believe, in their Defence Against the Dark Arts class. Under Dumbledore's leadership, anyway."

"So, it's not dark then?"

Tom smiled softly, as if amused. "I do not believe that any magic is light or dark. It is the intentions behind magic that defines it's morality, in much the same way that intention and belief conjures magic to begin with."

Harry frowned a little. He wasn't sure what to make of this, especially as he was sure Tom had just succeeded in avoiding a direct answer.

"My intention is to help you," Tom said, seeing Harry's dubiousness. "You can see how this is already improving your ability to understand Occlumency. With this magic, I can stop you completely from having your mind read even before you've learnt the magic properly. I can read the minds of others for you without you going through the awaiting months of training."

Well, Harry thought, this was better than having his mind repetitively broken into by Tom in the name of learning Occlumency. "That is quite useful, to be honest."

"It's wonderful," Tom said, smiling a sharp smile. "Let us try again, to make sure that it truly works..."

Tom disappeared moments later. A fog momentarily took over Harry's mind, leaving his vision perfectly clear. He could hear Tom's voice in his head, directing him, talking to him. Tom could preform magic through Harry's body with both ease and shocking precision. The only downside to this was, it never lasted long.

"Brilliant!" Tom exclaimed the moment he was out of Harry's head.

Harry couldn't help but smile at him. "So, this is really going to work, then?"

"I believe so, yes," Tom said. "With this new ability, we have the power to not only conjoin our magic, but to synchronize our minds and actions as one. We have an entirely different way of communication, one that could only be detected by Legilimency – which we can resist, of course!"

"And what, we're more powerful like this?"

"By a great extent, yes," Tom told him, beaming. "We have always been powerful, even separated, and I have leant you magic when you needed it in much the same way that leant me magic, but with this... we become more powerful still."

Harry was admittedly quite awed and impressed by all of this. He could no longer feel the cold chill of this deserted classroom that he and Tom talked within. "It's brilliant."

"Now, I wonder only to what extent we can push this," Tom said, turning from Harry. "It is my belief that -"

"Wait."

On impulse, Harry had tried to take Tom's hand, to stop him from turning away. Tom turned back, surprised. He must have felt what had happened, but Harry wasn't quite sure how; his own hand had fall through Tom's, unable to reach him. It was as if he wasn't there at all. They stared at each other for a moment. The atmosphere had changed.

"We have used a lot of magic today," Tom explained, perhaps reading the question in Harry's expression. "When this happens, I am no longer as whole."

Harry said nothing. So, Tom wasn't real... and hadn't the Diary Tom been exactly like this? Lacking energy, lacking the ability to be whole? He had taken all of Ginny's power instead, feeding off of her heart, her emotions, her soul. Harry was suddenly deeply unsettled. He decided he needed a better explanation.

"What are you?"

"I am a wizard, much like your-"

"You're not human. You're not real."

Tom never broke his gaze. "I lack a body, yes... but I am not a mere illusion."

"You're a piece of soul," Harry said. He knew he was right. "You're like the Diary Horcrux."

"You're mistaken."

"Then explain it, Tom."

Harry was convinced Tom was like the Diary now. He had been thinking about this on and off for the last fortnight, never allowing the thought to sink in properly until now. To his surprise, he wasn't scared. He was brooding.

"We all have souls, do we not? We are souls," Tom began. "Human bodies are mere cases in which a soul is stored for an exploration of this world... I am a soul with no body. I am a soul bound to earth only because of you. I am not the Diary, I am not any other item Voldemort chose to store a piece of his soul in, for if I was, why, then, would he so determinedly attempt to kill you? You know who I am, Harry, for I have been with you all the way along..."

Could he trust what Tom said, Harry wondered? He would have refused to immediately if it weren't for one thing: Tom seemed to be trying to protect him. It wasn't like with Ginny, where Voldemort's soul had used her fragile heart for his own power. Tom wasn't taking anything from him... Harry decided to remain cautious. Only one thing truly bothered him.

"You're not Voldemort, are you?"

"No," Tom swore again. "He and I are not one. He is still at large, doing who knows what with the Death Eaters. You know he would have killed you already, had he gained access to you through me. Even if, in honesty, others may not think so..."

"Others?" Harry repeated. "What, like Dumbledore?"

"Yes..."

Tom's tone was odd. He stood in prominent silence, as if refraining from saying too much. A sense of foreboding filled Harry at once.

"Dumbledore doesn't know you exist though, does he?"

"No," Tom said, "and I wish to keep it that way. I fear he is already suspicious..."

"Why would he be suspicious of you?"

"He is hunting Horcruxes."

"But you said -"

"I know," Tom added smoothly, "but if he were to discover my existence, this would be the first thing he assumes..."

"So... since Dumbledore wants to destroy all of Voldemort's Horcruxes, you're scared he's going to kill you by mistake?"

Tom's lips were pressed hard together. He watched Harry very carefully, a troubled look upon his face. "I am not a Horcrux," he repeated. "I am not bound to any object..."

In a moment so quick that he could barely comprehend it, Harry understood. The blood drained from his face, his eyes widening. "You're bound to me."

Tom turned his face away, breaking eye contact.

"You – you said it yourself," Harry stammered, "you're bound to me, Tom. You're a soul without a body, you're – they're -"

Harry's heart felt like it had skipped a beat. His mind was slipping from reality. He wished so badly that Tom would tell him this wasn't true, but he never said a word.

"To kill you... he'll have to kill me..."

He could see this was true the moment Tom gave him a silent, pained look. In nothing over a whisper, he said, "Yes. Dumbledore will have no choice, if he honestly believe that there is no chance of Voldemort falling while I remain alive."

Harry's heart was hammering in his chest, his lungs aching for more breath.

"So... so what do we do?" he asked, trying hard to keep his voice strong.

Tom shook his head as if in defeat. "There's not much we can do, besides prepare ourselves the best we can. It is why I have begun training you, like no one else has ever bothered to before."

Harry felt as if he was a long way away from his body, like he was looking at Tom through a dark tunnel. "So, all of this... everything Dumbledore is teaching me... it's just a distraction? He isn't trying to protect me..."

"I believe that is the only explanation. We know that he is dying," Tom said quietly. "I wonder often if he has given up on this war, given up on life... He clearly gave up on your survival long ago."

Harry was shaking his head, unable to accept any of this. He felt as if he might faint.

"We can't know any of this for sure, however," Tom told him, perhaps fearing he would indeed pass out.

"But – but it can't be any other way, can it? Ron and Hermione thought he'd be teaching me powerful magic, or at least teaching me how to defend myself, but he hasn't... He hasn't even told me how to destroy Horcruxes..."

Dumbledore had never prepared him at all, the more he thought about it. He had tried teaching Harry Occlumency in his fifth year, but as soon as Snape threw him out of class, no further attempts to train him had been made. Had Dumbledore really given up on Harry?

He didn't know how he was supposed to calm himself down. All he could do was stare, his mouth dry, his ears ringing with the lack of sound to take in. He wanted to run. This couldn't be possible...

"So that's it, then," he said shakily. "This is – this is all anything's lead up to, isn't it?"

"Harry -"

Harry moved away when Tom stepped forwards; he tried to push his hand away. It fell through again. He wondered for a fleeting second how Tom had forgotten this would happen.

"I didn't mean to scare you by telling you all of this," Tom said.

"Yeah?" Harry asked sarcastically. He was annoyed now. "Well, great job..."

Tom stepped closer still. Even if they couldn't touch, he seemed to want to comfort Harry in any way he could. Harry wished he wouldn't.

"I didn't want to tell you at all," Tom admitted, "for I knew it would scare you... Yet you must understand that we don't know what's going through Dumbledore's head. All I know is that he's suspicious. I want to protect you, I want to ensure that you and I are safe, but we cannot know yet how much protection we might need."

This was such a pitiful hope, Harry had no choice but to cling to it. He was being protected by Tom, at the very least... "So, what now?"

"We must be cautious," Tom told him. "We must stay vigilant, to gather information, and wait."

It was hopeless, Harry felt. He never said a word, he never let Tom know of the worries that took over his mind and heart. He was sure it was visible in his eyes, in his actions. Dumbledore had given up on him...

The night was quiet. They barely said a word to each other before Tom parted from him, and he was left alone.

– X –

A day after their sombre meeting, Harry found himself becoming paranoid. He endured hours of schoolwork being half-distracted by his worries, being distant and moody to Ron and Hermione. It was costing him a lot to be like this, so he decided to seek Tom's help. He found an empty classroom an hour before dinner, waiting. When Tom appeared, he asked if it were possible for him to stay around more often, to see if he could help gathering any more evidence on the subject of Dumbledore's suspicions.

"This will take a great deal of magic from you," Tom told him. "Even an hour of me being visible to you tires you greatly."

"I don't care," Harry told him. "If this is the difference between having a chance to stay alive and getting killed by Dumbledore who knows when, I'd rather stay tired."

"You'll fall behind on your studies."

Harry gave a hollow laugh. "As if schoolwork's going to help me when I've got Voldemort trying to kill me outside of Hogwarts and Dumbledore trying to kill me within it. Just – I dunno – can't you stay around me without wasting magic being actually visible all the time?"

Tom thought this over swiftly. "That is manageable," he said. "Though... perhaps I should also take a little time to help you with your studies, so your Professors do not suspect something is distracting you."

"Alright, fine," Harry said, not truly caring. "I just want to know that something isn't happening at Hogwarts past what I can see."

So Tom accompanied Harry invisibly throughout all his interactions with the other students, through classes, Quidditch practice (watching from the stands), breaks, and until a few hours before he slept. Harry started becoming very used to Tom's presence, even if he couldn't see him all the time. It was almost comforting to know that he was standing close by.

During a Defence Against the Dark Arts class a few days after their worrying discovery, Harry became so troubled by a thought that he completely lost interest in whatever Snape was going on about. He knew Tom was paying attention and he was taking advantage of this a little. He was thinking about how Dumbledore was going to die.

He wondered how on earth Snape was involved in this, and why he and Dumbledore had spoken about it so privately that only Hagrid had overheard them in the school grounds. Had Dumbledore wanted him to hear? Had he warned any of the other teachers or members of the Order of the Phoenix about the mad plan he was surely devising? Had -

"Potter!"

Harry jumped, sitting up and pulling his attention immediately to Snape, who was standing right by his desk.

"Er – what was the question, sir?"

Snape's eyes narrowed.

"I never asked you a question, Potter," he spat. "It should be no question at all that I expect you to pay attention during my class, or expect a quick detention for not doing so."

"Right – er – sorry, Professor."

Snape scowled at him before turning away. Hermione sighed irritably, shaking her head but not saying a word to him. Ron gave him a half-shrug before turning back to Snape. Harry was left confused.

"_Does he mean I get detention?_" he hissed to Tom. "_He never actually said._"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tom reappear in the chair next to him. "_I'm unsure..._"

"_He hasn't given me detention much lately,_" Harry mumbled, scratching down a few notes to look busy. "_I dunno why._"

"_I have a theory,_" Tom said slowly.

"_You do?_"

"_Yes.__ There's something you should see..._"

"_What is it?_"

Hermione cast Harry a quick look, as if she had heard his hisses. She then looked away, seemingly convinced that it was nothing. The bell rang.

"_Trust me,_" Tom asked of him.

The next thing Harry knew, there was a loud '_BANG!'_ and his textbook, notes, spare parchment, quill and ink went flying off the table.

"Harry!" Hermione gasped in surprise.

He had very nearly knocked over Ron and Hermione's notes, while his were sprawled on the ground, soaking up ink from his smashed inkpot.

"Leave it, it's fine," Harry said when Hermione began trying to help him. "You'll be late for class."

"Oh, alright," Hermione said. She wasn't annoyed, but she seemed to notice Harry was. "You'll be alright?"

"I'll be fine," Harry said. "Go, before Snape blames the two of you too."

Snape was indeed heading towards them, perhaps seizing his chance to punish Harry further – as if he wasn't already annoyed enough. Ron and Hermione turned away with a quick "Sorry, mate," from Ron. Harry had just enough time to shoot an irked glance at Tom before Snape was towering above him.

"Tell me, Potter," Snape began, sneering, "has it become too much of a troublesome task for you to pack away your school-bag like any normal wizard, or do you take pleasure in being a careless, bumbling fool, stooping to any level to catch the attention of all your fellow classmates? Twenty Points from Gryffindor."

Harry heard Crabbe and Goyle snickering on their way out the classroom. Malfoy's blond head could be seen weaving throughout the crowd of students, but he was silent.

"Two hours of detention this week should be enough to remind you, Potter, that you should pay more attention."

"Yes, sir," Harry said dully, moping up the useless remains of his notes. He hadn't written down much today, anyway. He saw Tom sitting next to him, staring unblinkingly at Snape.

"Look at me when I am talking to you, Potter," Snape snapped.

Harry did so, dropping the ink-sodden parchment back on the ground before glowering up at him. Hatred filled the Professor's pasty skin before, in a moment so quick Harry was unsure when it happened, Tom possessed him. He could almost feel the shield going up over his mind. His emotions were cut off for a while, because those were far too easy for Snape to latch onto. He stared blankly, waiting.

He didn't resist it when Tom began controlling him, keeping his gaze fixed steadily on Snape's black eyes. He was going to preform Legilimency. For the first time, Harry would see what this was like.

Snape's mind was unprotected in these precious few seconds because he would never dream, in all his life, that Harry could preform magic so complicated. Tom was latching onto Snape's anger, pulling them further into his mind to search for the root of it. Snape was one of the most skilful Occlumens the wizarding world had perhaps ever known, but Tom surely had as much knowledge as Voldemort himself on the skill of Legilimency. Snape's guard was nonexistent.

_It is a wonder how Dumbledore can convince him that he has the power to defeat the Dark Lord,_ Snape's voice echoed through Harry's head as Tom continued searching. _An inflamed ego is the only thing that could possibly keep him from knowing... from knowing..._ Tom was latching onto this thought, pulling to the root of Snape's emotions for this. Suddenly, without truly knowing how, Harry found himself standing in an odd reconstruction of Dumbledore's office.

_So the boy... the boy must die?_ Snape was asking.

_And Voldemort himself must do it, Severus,_ Dumbledore's voice was echoing in response. _That is essential..._

All Harry could see was Snape's anguished face, Dumbledore's calm expression, and the darkening, unfocused office behind them. _So the boy... the boy must die?_

Tom was retreating, taking them out of the strange happenings in Snape's mind.

Harry could see the classroom around him again, he could see Snape standing in front of him, a look of irritation on his face. Tom was guarding Harry's mind, but Harry looked away to make sure Snape didn't see his sudden ability to preform Occlumency. Had he noticed them extracting this memory, he wondered? He couldn't be sure. He didn't know how Legilimency worked.

"Finish packing this away," Snape ordered, "and leave. I expect to see you in double detention, Friday evening."

"Yes, sir..."

Tom stopped possessing his mind as soon as Snape turned away. With his own thoughts back, Harry's head felt numb. His hands were trembling as he removed ink from the last few pieces of parchment, cleaning it up with a wave of his wand. Even when he was done, he didn't look at Tom. He stood up, throwing his rucksack over one shoulder. They left Snape's classroom.

Harry needed to find an empty classroom. He headed all along the first floor, finding one after a mere minute or two. The passing students may have stared, but he never looked up at them, nor checked to see if Tom was still following him. Tom closed the classroom door behind them before he could. All Harry could do was pace the room, his heart hammering, his head spinning.

"That can't have been real," he said the moment he could gather his senses. "That can't – that can't have happened!"

Tom made his way towards Harry, sitting on a nearby desk. "I'm afraid it did."

"So – so what what is this?" Harry demanded. "Snape and Dumbledore have just been plotting my death or – or deciding when to throw me out there to face Voldemort on my own? I don't have a chance at defeating him! Tom, I can't – I..."

Harry ran his hands through his hair, trying to get his head around everything that was happening. He took in deep, panicked breaths. He didn't know what he was supposed to do now.

"This is worse than I feared," Tom said quietly.

"You think?" Harry asked. He felt so stressed and terrified now, all he wanted to do was run.

"Dumbledore must know about me," Tom muttered, ignoring Harry's comment. "He must know of my existence... The least I can say is that he must be as of yet unaware that I have awoken again inside you. He mustn't be aware of the fact that you know I am here, for if he knew, you wouldn't currently be breathing..."

Harry kept pacing the room, trying to stay on top of his emotions. He was so angry. He was terrified. The stress was building up inside him, making his arms ache and his legs tremble.

"As for Snape," Tom carried on, "he will likely discover that it is I who gives you your tremendous strength. We will have to make sure he doesn't tell Voldemort of my existence."

"And what if he does?" Harry asked him. "What do we do?"

Tom shook his head. For the first time, he looked almost scared. "There's nothing we could do."

Harry stopped walking to stare at him. "There has to be something we can do."

"Snape will surely be the one to bring you to Voldemort, to please both his conflicting masters. With this news, it doesn't matter who's side he's truly on, for Dumbledore has lost. He will be dead soon and so will you if his plans go well; it's clear he has trained no on else to face Voldemort. I've explained before that I am going to train you the best I can, so we are at least prepared for what is to come. It will not be easy."

Harry's chest was aching. "We don't stand a change."

"How so?"

"If the Death Eaters, Voldemort, Dumbledore, and the entire Order of the Phoenix is trying to kill me-"

"Not the Order," Tom said. "It's only Snape and Dumbledore, as far as we know."

"As far as we know is bad enough!"

Harry couldn't take this. His mind felt so light, this can't have been real.

"If the entire Order of the Phoenix wanted you dead because of this, I'm afraid you would already be dead," Tom told him. "You would have seen signs of their pity, you would have sensed their dismay."

"And what if I jut didn't notice?" Harry asked. He tried hard to keep sorrow from clinging to his voice.

"Dumbledore likes to keep his plans as secret as possible. He would not go around telling the Order of the Phoenix that you are doomed to die, for it would not only risk a Death Eater or two gaining this information, but it would risk you learning more than you were meant to know... Dumbledore would not want any chance of your survival."

"So, why am I even alive right now? If Dumbledore wants me dead..."

"I have no answer for that," Tom admitted. "My more plausible theory so far is merely that he wants to stop Voldemort from knowing of my existence and he wants to avoid having to murder you himself."

"Don't," Harry croaked. "Don't say that."

"It's the truth."

"I don't care if it's the truth, I don't want to hear it!" Harry shouted at him. It was so much easier to be angry. "I don't want to hear that – that this is the end, or that there's nothing else we can do!"

Tom stood up. "Harry, Listen to-"

"If this is it, if this is all anything had lead up to, Tom, I want to fight!"

"I know," Tom told him. "We're going to have to, for if we do not fight, we'll likely be killed by any number of wizards after your head. Things will only get worse."

"How is this going to work?" Harry asked him desperately.

"Three things could happen. Voldemort could find out that Dumbledore wants you dead, making him rethink his attempts to kill you, Dumbledore can become wiser before his death and stop his plans to lead you towards your death, or nothing will can change. If the latter, we'll have to fight both sides."

Harry wanted to be angry, but it was harder to do when Tom looked upon him sadly.

"He... He lied to me," was the first thing Harry said in sorrow. "Dumbledore..."

"I know," Tom said softly. They stood meters apart, watching each other.

"If he knows that Malfoy and Snape are going to kill him, why would he give up?" Harry asked. "Snape made the Unbreakable Vow with Malfoy's mother, he must have told Dumbledore about all of this – he knows Dumbledore is going to die... And what, Dumbledore just goes with it?"

A moment of wonder crossed Tom's face. It was gone in seconds. "Dumbledore is ill, is he not? It doesn't matter what kills him, I assume."

"Yeah, I guess he must be..."

So that was it, Harry thought. Dumbledore knew the war was already over for him.

"Tom, what do we do..."

"I'll protect you."

Harry looked up, trying to breath evenly through the anger and sorrow and bound his lungs. "You will?"

"Yes."

"And I'll protect you."

"Yes."

Harry didn't dare to show weakness in front of Tom, but this single understanding, this single bond between them made him feel the first moment of safety. They had each other. They only had reach other, but that had a chance of being enough.

"I will fight alongside you until our death..."


	12. Sectumsempra

12 – Sectumsempra

Sunlight glimmered off the surface of the lake, masking both the darkest depths and purest spots of shallow water. A soft breeze weakened the impact of the steadily setting sun while the scent of dry earth and new flowers filled the air. Almost no one else was outside to enjoy the dying day, to Harry's delight. Hogwarts stood proudly before him, but for the first time in memory, it felt sinister and disconnected to him. He wanted to be as alone as he could.

To clear his mind, he needed to be outside the castle walls, and with the amount of homework he had to finish off by tonight, he had the perfect excuse. A change had happened to his view of Hogwarts. Dumbledore was aware, surely, that the danger of Voldemort was drawing ever-nearer, but still, in spite of everything, he was giving up. He would give Harry up too, and Snape would guide him... to assist in the act, like he surely craved to do.

"This potion contains the spine of lionfish, not catfish," Tom pointed out calmly, looking over the Potions essay Harry was writing the last few lines of. "You wouldn't want to make such a mistake for Slughorn to see, for the Elixir would turn out very different indeed."

"Oh, right," Harry said, pulling away from his thoughts. "Sorry, I should have seen that..."

It was written down at least five times in the open pages of _Advanced Potion-Making_. Harry had no idea how he could make such a mistake. Tom seemed to feel the same way.

"You're distracted," he commented.

"I'm alright," Harry said.

Tom watched him carefully. He didn't drop his gaze even when Harry did.

"It – it's just a bit hard to focus," Harry began lamely. "Now we know Snape and Dumbledore are planning to get rid of me..."

Tom thought this over for a moment. "So long as we are watchful, we'll know when the time is right to take action."

"But when Dumbledore is gone, who knows what Snape will do."

"Dumbledore left him instructions to leave you to Voldemort, did he not?"

"Yeah, but if Snape's fine with making the Unbreakable Vow to take over Malfoy's job, to kill Dumbledore... who knows what else he's going to do for the Death Eaters, for Voldemort."

An odd look crossed Tom's face. It was one of understanding, of realisation. Softly, he began, "So, if Snape were to fail, after Draco cannot kill Dumbledore..."

"He'd die," Harry answered bluntly. "Which tells us one thing for sure: he really means it when he promises Death Eaters he'll do their dirty work for them."

Tom said nothing. He was thinking deeply. Harry didn't want to hear that Snape was going to be the one to kill him.

"It just worries me," he finished quietly.

"Well," Tom said, after a pause, "it would only make them more suspicious if you were to fall behind on your studies."

"I know..."

Tom turned his attention back to the parchment. "You've done well on this essay, so far."

"Have I?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Yes," Tom said. "There are a few faults, of course, but it would be even more curious still if you were to give all of your teachers perfect essays. This is good enough to be satisfactory, to give you a good mark."

"Right," Harry said. "Well, thank you."

"I'm glad to be of some help to you, in this respect," Tom answered. "You would have done almost as well on your own, however... I merely enjoy being in your company."

Harry tried to smile this comment off, but colour rose to his face a little, making him feel too hot under the bright spring sun.

Tom's eyes were on him. He began rolling up his essay in haste. "Well, that's that done then... We should probably head back inside."

"If you wish."

Back in the castle, Harry found Ron and Hermione in the Common Room talking and joking happily together, enjoying the free time they had before dinner. When Harry sat down next to them, they seemed almost surprised. He had been avoiding them these last few weeks for a lot of reasons, none of which he desired to talk to them about.

"Where were you?" Hermione asked curiously. Her tone was light and casual, leading Harry to suspect that she, like Ron, was still endlessly pleased about Lavender's lack of presence.

"I was just finishing off some homework," Harry told her. "By the lake. Thought I'd get some fresh air."

"That makes sense, I suppose," she said, appearing cautious. "Why, though? You haven't finished homework so early in years."

"It's Quidditch Saturday," he reminded her. "I have to start finishing off work early. It's too important."

She raised her eyebrows. "If Quidditch is the only reason you're finishing homework -"

"Then what're you worried about? It's still work being done."

"Tell me you at least put effort into it," she asked of him.

"Give it a rest, Hermione," Ron cut in. "We've barely seen Harry in weeks because of all the work we've been forced to do, you can't just bring all this up when we finally talk to him again."

Affronted by Ron's interference, Hermione puffed up at once. "And who's going to have to take care of it when the two of you start losing grades in the last term like this?"

Harry thought immediately of Tom. He said nothing, dropping his gaze. Ron opened his mouth to retort, but either the truth behind her words or a desire to not offend her stopped him. He shot a glance at Harry, who was still preoccupied.

"It's alright, anyway. Harry's got his work done, hasn't he? I dunno what else you want."

Hermione shook her head in annoyance, saying nothing. They didn't say a word for the next twenty minutes, as both Hermione and Ron hid behind books and Harry waited with nothing but his thoughts to comfort him. When Ron looked up with a bored expression and asked if they wanted to head down to dinner, neither Harry nor Hermione objected.

"Let's hope the match against Ravenclaw won't distract you from dinner, as well," Hermione began in a low voice when they headed out the portrait hole.

"Oh, come on," said Harry moodily, scowling at her as they walked, "you can't keep bringing this up like it's some offence against you personally. It's the final match of the year, Hermione!"

"It's got half the school completely distracted."

"For good reason! This match makes school history. Unlike one potions essay or, I dunno, one Transfiguration spell we have to learn, winning and losing a match like this is remembered for decades. It's -"

But his rant was cut short by a horrid gagging sound and a heavy shove to the shoulder. Ron began speeding ahead of Harry, turning into a boy's bathroom to their right.

Hermione sighed. "Look what you've done now. Quidditch isn't worth getting ill over!"

"Yeah?" Harry asked her, "You try flying fifty feet above the pitch, blocking Quaffles with a sister in the team and five brothers ready to laugh at you any minute."

Ron must have heard him, because vomiting sounded from the bathroom once more, accompanied by a low groan. "Don't talk about this," he pleaded in a muffled, echoing voice.

Hermione's lips were pressed hard together in annoyance when Harry caught sight of her.

"What do you suggest, then?" he snapped.

"Find something better to do with your time, perhaps," she hissed. "Or better yet -"

She stopped, a familiar look of overwhelming thoughts reaching her face.

"Oh," she said, her annoyance slipping away, "I think I forgot something important... You look after Ron, I have to go see Professor Vector about my last Arithmancy essay!"

Infuriated, all Harry could go was shoot her a glare, which she ignored. She disappeared around a corner in seconds, her footsteps fading.

"Listen, I'm starving, Ron," Harry called through the open bathroom door. "Can't you meet me downstairs?"

"I don't want dinner," Ron told him weakly. "Just go on without me..."

His tone amused Harry a little. "Listen, about the match, it's going to be alright. It -"

"Just go!"

Feeling as if he had no choice, Harry chose not to argue. "Alright... I see you back in the Common Room, then."

He made his way further down the corridor, hoping Ron wouldn't think he was abandoning him at the wrong time. He felt guilty for saying those things in anger in front of Ron and felt even worse about how he had lied. He wasn't hungry. He was annoyed at Hermione and wanted to avoid her, but he also wanted to take a moment to glance at the Marauder's Map...

He headed up one flight of stairs to the Seventh Floor. He thought he might try his luck again at opening the Room of Requirement to catch Malfoy, even if Tom didn't want him to. When he unfolded the map and had a look at it, he couldn't see Malfoy in the Slytherin Common Room or the Great Hall. He thought his chances of finding him in the Room of Requirement were more and more plausible until, with a jolt of surprise, he spotted Malfoy somewhere else.

In a bathroom, one floor below. Hanging around Moaning Myrtle...

Footsteps sounded next to Harry. He was so alarmed that he lowered the map and span around, slamming his shoulder into a suit of armour with a deafening: _CRASH!_

He hastily withdrew his wand to stifle the noise. Tom smiled at his surprise.

"I'm sorry for scaring you," he said, "but I rather thought you might have expected me to stop you entering that room once more..."

"It's fine," Harry said hastily. He glanced over Tom's shoulder, hoping Filch wasn't hurrying towards the source of noise already. "It's fine... Let's go though, before someone shows up asking what's happened."

Tom followed him without comment. Harry sped through the corridor, down one flight of stairs, until they were close to where Malfoy would be hiding.

"You're panicked," Tom said. He watched Harry, concern visible in his eyes.

"Follow me," Harry panted. His heart was racing. "Quietly. There's something I wanna see..."

They crept towards the bathroom on the next corridor. The door was closed and when Harry pressed his hear to it, he could hear nothing. Being as quiet as he could, he pushed the door open as much as he dared to.

There, across the room, with his back to the door, Draco Malfoy stood before one of the many carved sinks. His head was bowed, his knuckles white with the strain of his grip as he tried to pull himself together. Harry had never seen him looking more distressed in his life.

"Don't," called a quiet, afflicted female voice. It was Moaning Myrtle. She was terrified. "Don't... tell me what's wrong... I can help you..."

"No one can help me," Draco whispered. He was trembling badly, his voice hoarse. "I can't do it... I can't... It won't work... and unless I do it soon... he says he'll kill me..."

Malfoy drew in deep, shuddering breaths between his words. He was choking on his own tears, gasping for air as he tried to take control back over his emotions. It was no use. Harry was stunned, staring at the unlikely, horrifying scene before him. He knew Draco cried because of Voldemort's request, but never like this...

Harry made one fatal mistake next. Fuelled by curiosity and sympathy, he accidentally pushed the door a crack further open.

It made a sound. Draco looked up, panicked, and caught sight of Harry through the speckled, cracked mirror. He spun around and reached for his wand. Harry burst through the door, diving for cover, and withdrew his own wand just as Malfoy shouted in terrorised rage: "_Secareileum!_"

The spell hit a lamp above Harry's head, causing it to explore and shatter just as he thought: "_Levicoprus!_" Malfoy blocked the jinx, his face twisted into a look of hatred. Harry scrambled up to his feet once more, ready for a proper fight.

"No! No! Stop it!" Myrtle pleaded, her sobbing voice rebounding off the walls and piercing them from all directions. "Stop! STOP!"

The bin beside Harry exploded and he threw a Leg-Locker Curse at Malfoy in response. The curse missed, rebounding off the walls just like Myrtles voice, hitting a cistern below her and causing her to scream in terror and fright. It alarmed Harry further as water flooded the floor, slipping beneath his feet and throwing him off balance until -

Harry felt hands around him in a moment so quick that he hoped Malfoy missed it. Tom had stepped in to help him. Tom allowed him to never to take his eyes off Malfoy, especially in the precious two seconds when his face contorted, hatred catching him through the word, "Cruci-"

"SECTUMSEMPRA!" Harry shouted in alarm.

_Slash!_ The first hit of Harry's spell struck, cutting Malfoy's words short. _Slash!_ Blood was spurting from his chest, covering up his horrified face. _Slash!_ In the deafening silence, even Moaning Myrtle paused in to see it. Blood was seeping through Draco's shirt, causing streaks of red to line the floors. Blood was gushing out in waves when he staggered, stumbling as his eyes were wide. Blood was dropping as his body slipped, falling fast through the haunted air.

"No -"

Draco's wand hit to the floor with a clattering sound, the clear water around him running red and taking in smoke-like drops of blood with eagerness.

"No – I didn't -"

Harry moved away from Tom blindly, dropping to his knees besides Draco's quivering body. He reached for his face with a shaking hand, unable to believe what had happened. He was dying.

In desperation, Harry turned back to Tom. "Help me," he asked of him. "Tom, please help-!"

But he stopped. To his horror, Tom was smiling. He was gazing at Harry with a look of such wonder, such joy, it rooted him to the spot. He hadn't seen Tom so feverishly happy since the day they heard Dumbledore was going to die. Even as Draco bled worse and worse, Tom rose a finger to his sharply taut lips.

"_Leave him..._" he hissed.

He was proud. He was amazed.

He was stopped only when Myrtle began to scream: "MURDER!"

The smile slid from Tom's face. Harry thought he might have come to his senses then, might have realised that this put the both of them in grave danger. The girl he had murdered was causing him more damage now than he could stop.

"MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER!"

The bathroom door burst open. Snape, of all people, stood staring from the entrance, his pale face stricken with furious astonishment. All Harry could do was stare. Even as Snape advanced, thinking quickly and taking in the sight of Malfoy's ripped-open chest bravely. Harry stared. He was pushed aside.

Snape began murmuring an incantation as Harry scrambled to his feet. He was entirely distracted, his eyes fixated on the wounds Malfoy's chest bore. They began healing, slowly. Harry couldn't believe what he had done. He couldn't believe any of this was real while Malfoy gasped for breath desperately, trembling madly. Tom had eyes only for Harry. They were wide and staring, a strange, inhuman glint within them. Harry barely dared to look at him. It was more horrifying still to see that joy in Tom than it was to see Malfoy shaking and dying.

Snape's spell had to be said three times before he could get Malfoy into a sitting position.

"You need the hospital wing," Snape said in a serious tone the moment he was done. "There may be a certain amount of scarring, but if you take dittany immediately we may even be able to prevent that... come..."

Malfoy managed to stagger to his feet with help. Snape barked an order to Myrtle to leave and she obeyed at once. He then turned to Harry.

"And you, Potter... you wait here for me."

He did not wait for a response. In seconds, he and Malfoy were out the door, heading straight for the hospital wing.

Harry stood in the pool of Malfoy's blood. It was a horrid, faint pinkish colour in some places, a dark pit of red in others. The sight made Harry feel ill. Malfoy could have died. Harry would have murdered him. Harry would have to have run... and where would he have gone? Out of Hogwarts, surely. With Tom, out of the gates, out into the wizarding world, alone...

Tom was walking towards him. Harry immediately began to back away, horrified by the idea of Tom being able to catch hold of him again. Tom stopped, his mad, unblinking eyes still wide. His smile had disappeared now, however. Sorrow and terror rose in Harry's throat.

"I didn't – didn't mean for that to happen," he began hoarsely.

Tom's head tilted to the side. "Then why cast the spell?"

"It – it was an accident," Harry told him. "I only read it written down, I didn't know – didn't think..."

"The Death Eaters are a great threat to us," Tom reminded him quietly.

Harry looked at him now. A thought struck him. "That's why you want Malfoy dead, right?"

Tom blinked for the first time, amazed.

"You pushed the door open," Harry said quietly. "So he'd notice me... I'm not stupid."

Tom found his composure, then. "Yes," he admitted.

"You wanted us to fight."

"Yes."

"You knew that if it went badly enough, I'd at least seriously injure Malfoy. You -..."

"You cast the spell," Tom reminded him. There was joy in his voice. A smile danced upon his lips. "That was something I never needed to do."

"I never meant to – I wouldn't have... You set me up!" Harry shouted in frustration. "You knew that if I hurt him, we'd be stopping his chances of going after Dumbledore, meaning it'd force Snape to start taking charge!"

"Yes."

Harry glared, his terror gone for the first time. His voice shook in fury. "You're trying to get me to kill Draco!"

"Not kill, no... I never thought that far ahead."

"Well, you wanted me to stop him, then! Because if we do, and if Snape can't kill an already dying Dumbledore either, because of us... no Snape, no Dumbledore."

Tom was surprised, enthralled. "How have you worked this all out?"

Harry stared at the flooded floor. His heart sank. "Well, you want Draco dead, so..."

"No," Tom said, "that's not what I ask. How is it that you know of my plans?"

When Harry gave no answer, his eyes widened.

"Oh..."

The glee in his voice was too much for Harry to take. He closed his eyes.

"You know it well," Tom said in a hushed, enthralled hiss, "for the thought has occurred to you before... hasn't it?"

Harry didn't have to answer. The door to the bathroom opened and Snape stepped inside once more. Harry might have been glad, for once, that Snape had saved him, but his face was twisted into a hateful, cautious look of surprise and fury. For the next few minutes Snape questioned Harry on where he had learnt this spell. Harry answered as best he could, his heart pounding, but still Snape knew something was curious about all this.

Despite being unable to read Harry's mind, Snape asked for his schoolbooks, all of them. Harry worried that someone had tipped him off about the Half-Blood Prince's book. Hermione, perhaps, or even Ron, if he was angry enough to betray him. Harry headed straight for the Common Room, thinking quickly on his way. He swapped his copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ with Ron, zooming out the Common Room straight afterwards, ignoring peoples' shock at the sight of him covered in blood.

Tom followed Harry all the way through this, but Harry never took a moment to stop until he hit the Room of Requirement. The place to hide items in was exactly as Harry had seen it in his dream with Tom. Although he knew Tom was very real, by this point, it was further proof. It was further reason to believe that Tom hadn't lied, that Tom was on his side... but Harry was too angry at him to comment on it. He ran back to the bathroom of the sixth floor to give Snape his school bag.

Snape investigated every book with precision and delicate, deliberate hesitation. When he found nothing he could call entirely unusual, he was forced to give up. He gave Harry detention until the end of term, which Harry thought was tortuously cruel, but also far less than of a punishment than he might deserve. Was Snape not going to drag him up to Dumbledore, to talk about how he had very nearly killed another student? Was Snape going to drag him too into the interference from Malfoy's family that would surely happen in the next few days because of all this?

No, Harry thought. Because Dumbledore would never suspect Harry of murder. Draco's mother, alone in the Malfoy Manor, would not care that her son had very _nearly_ died from a school quarrel, because a more deadly, more sure peril awaited him and his entire family. Bringing the Ministry into all of this would only make them keep a close eye on the school, which every Death Eater desired to avoid. Dumbledore would be thankful of Narcissa's lack of interference, but would be thankful too that nothing would stop Snape from killing him, should Draco fail...

The moment Snape allowed Harry to leave, he did so without a word. He headed for the Gryffindor Common Room, avoiding everyone on his way. The putrid smell of blood pulled his mind back over and over again to Draco's broken, bleeding body, and when he reached the empty dormitory, he tore at his bloodstained shirt. He didn't care whether he ripped the buttons off or frayed the cuffs and collar; he didn't want the ruined shirt anywhere near him.

Tom was standing by patiently. He clearly had something to say as he watched Harry, waiting. This managed to infuriate Harry in his already stressed state. "What is it?" he demanded.

"It's merely curious..."

"What is?"

Tom smiled patiently, leaning against a post of Harry's bed to watch him.

"Had you succeeded in killing Draco tonight," he began softly, "your first kill would have been in the same place as my own. A bathroom, at Hogwarts... It would have been a brilliant coincidence."

Harry couldn't fathom how to even begin responding to this. He decided to avoid the effort entirely. He pulled a clean shirt over his head. Gathering his towel and a full set of clean clothes, he headed away from the dormitory, telling Tom to leave him alone so he could shower in peace. No matter how much Harry tried, however, he couldn't get the feel of blood off of his body, couldn't shake the fear that followed him after his close escape from murdering...

He managed to avoid Ron and Hermione that night, only explaining shortly that he hadn't meant to hurt Draco so badly. When they demanded to know more, he refused to explain it to them, saying he was too tired and was sick of being questioned so much. He later realised this was a mistake. It worried the both of them, perhaps even angering them. It separated him from them fully, making them suspect that the rumours spreading around the school were true.

Hogwarts changed from that day onwards. When Harry walked down corridors, students turned to stare at him as if they feared keeping him out of their sights. No one trusted him at all. It was worse than any rumours he had faced before, worse than people suspecting he had opened the Chamber of Secrets, because there was so much truth behind the stories they twisted the ends of. He had attacked Malfoy, he had almost killed him. He had many reasons to want the Slytherin boy dead...

Only three days passed before Ron cornered Harry to ask what had happened. It was the first time they were alone together in the dormitory, giving them a chance to talk without being overheard. Harry wondered if Hermione was forcing him into this.

"Are you gunna explain what happened between you and Malfoy, or would you rather just leave me in the dark forever about it?" Ron asked forcibly.

"I don't know what you expect me to say, Ron. I got in a fight..."

"With a clan of feeding Vampires? You were covered in blood when you got back here!"

"Yeah, well..."

"Tell me what happened."

Harry closed his eyes, unsure which emotions were which as they overpowered him."I... I used a bad spell..."

"What spell?" Ron's tone was serious. It unnerved Harry. "Where'd you learn it?"

"It was one I'd never used before," Harry explained. "It was written in the Half-Blood Princes book, I didn't know it was bad. I just thought – I thought..."

"You got rid of it, then?"

"What?"

"The book. Where'd you put it?"

"In the Room of Requirement," Harry admitted. "I'll get it later on, when-"

"You can't just go fetch it again!" Ron exclaimed incredulously. "Look what it did to Malfoy! Blimey, Harry, half the school already reckons you've lost it while the other half things you're a fully fledged murderer -"

"What?"

For a moment Ron seemed to regret his words, but he carried on. "Well, what do you expect? You come here covered in blood, with Moaning Myrtle showing up at every bathroom saying you've murdered Malfoy in a fight. People start getting suspicious, you know."

Harry felt ill again, suddenly. "So, what, you've just been joining into all the rumours already, have you?"

"No!"

"Look, I don't care what people are saying about me, Ron. I don't care what you, or Hermione, or anyone else fears I've done now -"

"I never said -"

"- because it was an accident! I didn't mean for any of it to happen at all, it just did. Can't you just – just leave me alone about it already?"

Ron's mouth opened and closed many times as he gave Harry a long, disbelieving look. He was annoyed, but more than that he was lost for ideas on how he could sort this all out. Because of the latter fact, he gave in to his anger.

"Fine," he said, standing up fully, "but you can't go blaming me when everyone else carries on thinking you've gone mad. I'll see you around..."

Anger rose up in Harry so intensely, he could have hit Ron. This would only ruin his reputation further, however, and Ron was already heading out of the dormitory without a backwards glance.

Harry kicked a trunk nearby, hard.

"_Fuck!_" he hissed when he toes crumpled on the tough material.

He spent the next thirty seconds hoping around like an idiot, feeling more agitated than ever. He ended up sitting on the edge of his bed, squeezing the pain and closing his eyes to resist the urge to smash more things around him. Even Ron, even Hermione, feared him now... He bit his own lip, thinking hard. He moved his hands to his head the second his toes stopped hurting.

Rubbing his forehead and running his clawed hands across his scalp, he tried to contain his own shuddering fury. Hermione hadn't talked to him these last few days. She had, in fact, deliberately ignored him from what Harry could gather. He had been happy about this at first, but when he thought about it now he realised what a loss it was. His own best friend was so unsure about him that she had to take time away to think about what might have happened. She had to hide from him, lest her fears should be true...

Someone was taking slow, calm footsteps towards him. Harry knew it was Tom even before he looked up.

"Hello."

"Hey..."

"Would it bother you if I took a seat?"

"No..."

He felt the bed shift slightly under Tom's weight. He wondered if this meant they had saved enough magic to make Tom more real. Harry hadn't done nothing today, except sit in a classroom, dreading the looks, the words, and the thoughts of his fellow students... He wished, for the first time, that he was more tired.

"What is it that Weasley wanted?"

"To talk," Harry answered. "About what happened with Malfoy..."

"What did you tell him?"

"The truth. Not that he believed it... I think he and Hermione think the rumours spreading around school are true..."

"You did not murder Draco."

"They think I tried to."

"Even if you had... Draco is a part of his conspiracy against us. Although your friend do not know this, let it be a comfort to you that, above all, you acted in self-defence against someone behind a series of people who already want us dead."

Harry didn't see how this was meant to be helpful. "He doesn't know about Snape and Dumbledore though, does he?"

"Perhaps..."

Harry had to swallow many times to soothe his dry throat. He breathed out heavily. "What if they find out about you..."

"How might they?"

"I said your name... Above Malfoy, I said your name and he might have heard it."

Tom didn't seem particularly concerned. "Too much was happening for it to go noticed."

"He could remember it. I never meant to attack him like that..."

"You have to have."

"What?"

"You have to have meant to attack him," Tom said. "Otherwise, the spell would not have worked at all. Especially on your first attempt at-"

"Shut up!" Harry cut across him very clearly, very forcibly.

Tom stared at him, bemused.

Harry had thought of this over quite a few times. It unsettled him deeply, angering him in it's truth. In his stress, he tried to stand up, but a hand stopped him. Tom had taken his wrist gently.

"Don't go..."

Harry was frozen. He was unsure what he wanted to do as Tom looked at him carefully. A soft smile reached Tom's lips. It was unlike what Harry had seen above Malfoy's bleeding body, but he tensed at the memory nonetheless. Tom seemed to notice. Perhaps also recalling Harry's comments on not wanting them to be too close, he let go of Harry's wrist.

"You cannot be proven guilty of anything," Tom said softly. "There will be a surprising lack of inquiry into this particular event, I fear. There are too many Death Eaters to satisfy by not going through with finding the intent behind your attack..."

"Right," Harry mumbled vaguely. He was distracted by a look in Tom's eye, by how close they were sitting. Remembering, in a moment of embarrassment, that Tom could read his mind, Harry looked away, colour rising to his face.

"Harry?"

"What?"

Tom's hand returned to his. "Look at me..."

It was too much to take. All Harry could do was follow Tom's request, his heart suddenly beating faster. Tom smiled down at him, not having to say a word as he ran his thumb across Harry's hand slowly. Entranced by Tom's handsome face, Harry reached out a hand in a moment of bravery. He wanted to kiss Tom, to hold him close... but his hand met thin air.

A curtain seemed to drop on the stage of Harry's soft emotions. Reality was painful to him. Tom was not really here at all; his hand was an illusion, conjured only from the magic power he and Tom both harnessed. Dread returned to Harry, as well as the unpleasant emotions Tom had saved him from moments ago. Harry was painfully alone...

"How?" he asked in nothing over a whisper.

"How what?" Tom asked him.

Harry swallowed many times to soothe his dry mouth. "How can I make you real?"

Tom was full of thoughts, full of unfortunate reflections. "We haven't the power to make me whole, yet..."

"Is it possible, though? To make you whole?"

Tom reached up a hand to stroke the side of Harry's face. "Yes..."

Harry's eyes closed at his touch. Tom was both calm and calming. He made him forget everything happening elsewhere in the castle, in the busy minds of the morose teachers and terrified students. He needed Tom now more than ever...

"Can you tell me how? Please..."

"In time," Tom whispered.

His touch faded with the decline of his voice. When Harry opened his eyes, Tom was gone.


	13. Innocence

Dear readers, I must first of all apologise for how long it's taken me to write this chapter! I've made it nice and long as compensation for that. I finally found a solution to my previous laptop breaking and I've managed to get most of my writing in order, so it's all good now. You can expect another chapter soon without me tormenting you too much with my slow pace, haha.

Two notes about this chapter: there's a small portion of canon used at the end of it (all credit going to JK Rowling) and I would like to make it clear that the Ginny Weasley I write here, like with all characters, is influenced from the HP books, not the movies. It might make it a bit more pleasant for you to read her if you remember that. She was so much stronger, more awesome, and more interesting in the books, I wanted to give her a bit of an important role.

That's all for now. Enjoy!

* * *

13 - Innocence

The fear and anger of the students around Harry was too much to take. If Slytherins weren't glaring and hissing cruel threats to him during the day, the other three Houses were staring at him with held breath as he passed, fleeing any courtyards and study-rooms he entered. More often than not, lately, he stayed in the Gryffindor Tower when he wasn't in class. In there, the students were at least used to his presence, even if they rarely spoke to him.

Harry sat in the empty dormitory, wondering where Ron and Hermione were. For the first time in weeks – maybe even months – he wasn't planning to avoid them if he found them. They hadn't tried to talk to him at all since Ron last got angry, and Harry couldn't tell if they were scared, angry, or just unwilling to argue with him anymore. There was only way he could find out which; he had to talk to them.

If he had the choice, Harry would gladly leave Hogwarts now. He knew there was nothing worth staying here for. He death was planned and if he ever wanted to evade it, he couldn't stay anywhere near Dumbledore or Snape. Furthermore, if he was going to have to spend his life hiding from the Death Eaters and the Order of the Phoenix, two groups containing the most powerful witches and wizards he knew, there was no use in him finishing his education.

The only reason he was staying here was to prepare. In the next few weeks, he had to plan how best to find a hiding place and how to begin living with nothing but Tom, a new identity, and a lot of stolen equipment. Tom wanted to investigate the most important books remaining in the Hogwarts library. They would be able to take a lot of information with them in their last few days here, assuming they were prepared enough to steal it.

"I suspect the entire school will be distracted after Dumbledore's death," Tom explained calmly, standing near Harry in the cold dormitory, "which will give us a crucial opportunity to take information on Dark Arts without getting caught. Any death will scare the school deeply, leaving it weak."

Harry had to agree with this. The school was shaken badly by his and Draco's fight alone. The parents of various students were sending in concerned letters to Dumbledore daily, despite Narcissa Malfoy's eagerness to forget the entire situation. It was causing every student and teacher in Hogwarts to endure a slow, paralysing sense of foreboding.

"Snape will have left by that time, wouldn't he?" Harry asked Tom, the idea only just occurring to him. "I can't imagine him sticking around here much longer, even if Draco ends up being the one to kill Dumbledore. Too many people will suspect Snape."

"Yes," Tom said, "I believe you are right in expecting an outcome as such."

"It'll be great when that finally happens."

Tom's eyebrows rose in amusement. "I didn't know you looked forward to Dumbledore's death so avidly."

"No, that's not what I meant," Harry said quickly. "It's just, Snape's our biggest threat, isn't he? He knows what happened with Draco... I dunno how, but I think he fears I've learnt too much."

Tom thought about this. "He is rather suspicious."

"I don't know what he's playing at, keeping quiet about everything that's happened," Harry mused. "He must have realised I'm too good at Potions and too advanced in duelling magic for it to be normal... He must just think I've gone mad."

"Or he and Dumbledore suspect there is an interference."

Harry felt an odd knotting sensation in his stomach. He didn't like to think about them suspecting Tom's existence.

"However, I don't believe Dumbledore is particularly concerned," Tom then added.

Harry laughed coldly. "Yeah, I don't suppose it matters what I do, in his eyes. So long as I don't survive..."

Tom said nothing. Harry knew Tom had been watchful over the last few weeks, which was the closest reaction he could get to fear. He watched the minds of Harry's classmates and the changed behaviour of various teachers – Snape, mostly, but Slughorn too. Ever since the memory of Horcruxes has been revealed, Slughorn's adoration for Harry had weakened significantly.

"Snape's too powerful," Harry said in a low voice, looking out of the dormitory window just over Tom's shoulder. Harsh winds blew against the glass, but the sky was bright and full of sunshine Harry was missing.

"Do you fear him?" Tom asked.

Harry didn't want to give the answer to this question. He shifted uncomfortably. "It just makes me want to leave, right now. We're in a bit of a weak position at the moment, aren't we? If Snape found out what we knew, if he told Dumbledore..."

Tom didn't appear willing to contradict Harry's fears. He knew that it was the truth. "Running away now would only be more suspicious. We must wait."

"What does Dumbledore think?" Harry then asked, a pang of sorrow catching him, "that I'm a treat? That I'll turn bad? Or maybe I'm just a distraction... a part of a larger plan of his..."

"We cannot be sure which," Tom answered honestly.

Harry turned from the window, pained by this conversation. He decided he didn't want to talk about it at all. "Let's get out of here, anyway," he mumbled. "There's no point waiting round for someone to find us..."

Without comment, Tom followed Harry out of the dormitory. Late sunlight was pouring into the high windows of the Gryffindor Tower, illuminating the rooms in magnificent shades of crimson and gold. Very few students were still sitting inside and those who were were smiling amongst their small groups, enjoying their free time. All except two people, who were staring at Harry with uncomfortable, worried expressions.

Even if Harry hadn't wanted to, he would have had to face Ron and Hermione now. They were waiting for him to take a free armchair besides them, eager to talk. Harry drifted towards them, unsure whether he wanted to sit down. It surprised him that the three of them simultaneously wanted this meeting to happen. It was strength in the remains of their friendship, he supposed. Standing awkwardly by the chair, he spoke.

"I'm surprised you're not outside, enjoying the sun."

"We wanted to talk to you," Hermione said. Then, after a moment of thought, she added quietly, "I thought this was the only place we could find you."

Harry would have been slightly annoyed by this if it weren't for the sad, knowing look in her eyes. He looked away, discomforted. "You could have just sent Ron up to get me..."

"We know you too well, mate," Ron said. "You would have never listened to me."

"And what am I supposed to be listening to?"

Harry was annoyed now, without any real reason to be. He hated the way he acted towards Ron and Hermione, but he was at a loss of what else he could do.

"We wanted you to know we're here," Ron said.

"Really here," Hermione added, "for whenever you need us."

Harry broke.

"What, so this is you two making sure I won't keep quiet about it if I get in another fight with Malfoy?" he asked. "This is you two – I dunno – joining into with the rest of the school, thinking I've lost it?"

"We didn't mean-"

"Then don't start acting like you mean it!" Harry said furiously. "Don't sit there and act like I'm some nutter when you won't even listen to what happened!"

He had annoyed them, he knew. Ron's face contorted into a look of disbelief and indignation, but after a low hiss from Hermione and a scared, warning look, he stopped. Ron and Hermione shared a look Harry hated to witness. He had shouted at them for nothing and they were terrified.

Hermione turned back to Harry slowly, Ron following her lead. She was trying to treat Harry with caution and compassion but it made Harry want nothing more than to never see her again. Her voice was quiet when she spoke, lest the staring Gryffindors around them should hear the entire conversation.

"I don't want you to feel alone," she said. "Ron and I are – well, we're here, like always."

"I'm not alone," Harry said bluntly, "I'm-"

He stopped. He had forgotten, for a moment, that Ron and Hermione couldn't see Tom standing patiently besides him.

"You're what?" Ron asked him.

"Er, I'm – I'm sort of..."

Harry couldn't think of a convincing lie, least of all quickly. To his surprise, however, Hermione's posture changed. She thought deeply for a few seconds before asking, "Are you seeing someone?"

Her words made Harry pale. His throat suddenly dried up and his pulse quickened. More than ever, he couldn't find his voice.

"Who is she?" Hermione asked suddenly, a smile brightening her face at once. "Someone in our year?"

"Er..."

Hermione was referring to a love interest, not the strange, unexplainable ghost Harry was 'seeing'. For the first few seconds, Harry wondered how he could be so stupid.

"You simply have to tell us!" Hermione persisted happily

"No, I..."

"Give him a break," Ron told Hermione lightly. Both of their moods seemed to be lifted dramatically, as though the idea of Harry having a girlfriend explained all of the awful events that had happened recently. It was a relief to them. "He deserves some privacy."

"Oh, alright... but you'll tell us soon, won't you, Harry?"

"Er, I guess..."

"You shouldn't be reluctant, mate," Ron told him. "It's great if you're seeing someone! Well, so long as it isn't Cho again -"

"Ron!"

"What? I'm just saying!"

Hermione didn't seem all that serious, either way. Since they appeared to be in far better moods now and since Harry didn't want to be bothered anymore about what he hadn't told Ron and Hermione, he decided now was a good time to leave. They were only amused further by the idea of Harry wandering off to a secret place when he said he had to go, so they let him leave without much thought.

Harry was in a state of stress and uneasiness. As soon as he left the Gryffindor Tower, he headed for the nearest classroom with Tom. He wished he hadn't talked to either of his old friends.

"What am I supposed to do now?" he asked desperately. "I don't have a girlfriend. If Ron and Hermione manage to work that out, they'll be more worried than ever that I spend so much time alone!"

"You needn't stress over the idea," Tom said softly. "It is only a few weeks before the school year ends."

"They'll expect to meet my 'girlfriend' by then, won't they?"

"Perhaps."

Harry bit his lips, wishing there was a way to stop Ron and Hermione making mad theories like this. He needed a plan. He began thinking aloud. "The only safe solution is to go find someone to date before they find out I have no one..."

"That seems to be another tiresome distraction," Tom mused. "Between your detentions with Snape, your classes, Quidditch practice, and dealing with other students, we'll have no time to learn more magic."

"But this will give us time," Harry pointed out. "If I pretend to spend time with whoever I'm dating, I can go practice magic with you instead. I'll only have one person to lie to then – my girlfriend."

Tom straightened up where he sat, interested for the first time.

"That might indeed be simpler," he said, his eyes wide. "It would be an excuse for you to go missing at any time – even the teachers would drop their suspicions! By using one girl as a smokescreen, we wouldn't have a single problem! It's perfect!"

Harry was relieved that he had found a solution, until a thought struck him. "I dunno who I'd date, though. Everyone thinks I'm mad."

"Find someone who craves the attention," Tom suggested. "Those sort of people are far too easy to manipulate."

"But," Harry said slowly, "I don't really want to date just anyone. I mean, I don't want to lie to a girl I'm dating."

Tom didn't seem to believe it for a moment. "It'll fix all of our problems."

Harry shook his head. "No, I'm not sure, really... It's too cruel, to do that to someone."

"You needn't start a serious relationship," Tom said. "This is the best possible solution, Harry. If you were to reach a mutual agreement to date someone until the end of the year, we would not have a single problem to stall our progress in protecting ourselves!"

"I suppose," Harry agreed bluntly, not really interested in the idea. He thought that if he mulled it over for a few days, he might be able to come up with a better solution. What made him most quiet, however, and most worried wasn't the fact that he'd be hurting someone by entering a fake relationship, but rather he'd be losing his ability to get closer to Tom...

They didn't talk about it much over the next few days, but Tom was clearly gleeful that they had found such a simple escape from the schools' prying eyes. Harry spent hours thinking about how he could come up with a better plan than finding a fake girlfriend, but he came up with no new solutions. He was clambering blindly through the portrait hole one evening, on his way to the Common Room, when he found himself in a situation he couldn't turn back from. He stumbled in the darkness, knocking into no one other than Ginny Weasley.

"Oh, sorry – sorry, I didn't see you!" Harry stammered. He had just manged to avoid crashing into her completely, his face burning crimson. "I was – er – distracted..."

Tom gave a hum of laughter next to him, which Ginny couldn't possibly hear. He had been talking to Harry moments ago about the Dark Arts, confusing him with an overload of information.

"It's alright," Ginny told him calmly. "I was just looking for you, anyway. I wanted to have a word."

"About what?"

"It's a bit odd, actually," she began, her expression somewhere between scepticism and amusement. "Hermione's been asking me a lot of odd questions and I'm wondering what you've been saying about me to make her suddenly so interested."

"Interested?" Harry repeated. "In what?"

"Who I'm dating."

"Oh..."

Harry was somewhat bewildered by this. He didn't know what Hermione had been saying and he was confused by the look of expectancy and amusement in Ginny's eyes. Had Hermione asked Ginny if she was dating Harry?

Harry had an odd, painful suspicion that Ginny still liked him after all these years. The idea stuck to him and distracted him for a time because he realised, with dread, that Ginny was the perfect person for him to date. Tom, he suspected, knew this too.

They had known each other for years, they had fought alongside each other – it was a relationship interesting enough to keep the school blindly amused, so Harry could practice magic with Tom. It would take longer than a few weeks for Ginny to figure out he was missing and why. Even the fact that Ginny was Ron's sister would be helpful here – it gave Harry a reason for not telling Ron and Hermione sooner...

"You're not dating anyone at the moment though, are you?" Harry asked slowly. He realised how important it was to stay calm, but waves of nerves and fear passed over him, making his words mumbled and faint.

"Not after Dean, no. I'm not really interested in seeing just anyone."

"Right," Harry said, finding it odd that he had used the same words earlier. "Well, er, it must be a bit dull after all that..."

He had no idea what he was saying. He was torn between how perfect dating Ginny would be and how cruel it would be to use her like that.

"Actually, it was quite a relief," Ginny admitted. "Dean and I didn't get along well, towards the end."

Harry realised for the first time that Ginny was talking to him normally - actually _normally_. That was something he had missed out on ever since his duel against Draco. Only Tom ever spoke to him like a person, now. It worsened both of Harry's struggles: it'd be easier to date her, yet harder to lie to her if she of all people understood him...

Then, Harry felt it. His muscles began relaxing and moving on their own, making him look up at Ginny. His thoughts were cut off cleanly, as if a series of strings had been brought to a knife. Tom had possessed him. It was in a movement so quick that Ginny would have missed it, but Harry was shocked. They were waiting for Ginny's brown eyes to meet his own. When they did, Harry spoke.

"If you wanted," he said softly, "we could meet up at Hogsmeade this weekend. Just the two of us."

Ginny stared at him for a moment, surprised. Slowly, she asked, "As friends?"

"Whichever you want," he responded slyly.

As soon as he was forced to say it, he knew he had done something right. Ginny was smiling at him softly, gazing at him with a look of lighthearted satisfaction.

"Alright," she said, smiling. "I suppose I'll meet you there, then. It'll be a good last trip to Hogsmeade..."

With that, she left, casting Harry one last lingering glance. Harry watched her head out onto the corridor, disappearing in seconds. The further away she got, the more his grin slipped away. He forced Tom out of his mind, turning to face him at once.

"What was that?" he demanded in a hiss.

Tom pursed his lips, hiding a smile. "I thought I might help you."

"You can't just do that!" Harry exclaimed. "I don't want to use her like that!"

"You certainly seemed interested in the idea," Tom said. "I could sense you were evaluating whether or not she was a suitable girl to distract the school with. Since I came to a positive conclusion, I saw no use in waiting."

"And what about my opinions?" Harry asked. "If I wanted to date her, I would have asked her!"

"No," Tom said, shaking his head, "this isn't about who you want to be with. This is for convenience; Ginny Weasley is a perfect distraction."

Harry gritted his teeth irritably. He decided he didn't want to have this hissed conversation out in the open, so he headed into the Common Room. The place was empty. He strolled over to his usual seat by the fire, being followed by Tom, who sat on a couch next to him.

"You needn't be angry with me," Tom told him. "I was helping you."

"That isn't helping. That's forcing me into a relationship with someone I don't even like."

"You could have resisted the possession."

Harry wished he had. "I didn't know what you were doing," he explained. "I trusted you..."

These words may have had no affect on Tom, but it filled Harry with a sense of pained irritation.

If he dated Ginny now, the relationship would last a few weeks and she would start to become attached. Tom believed their safety and secrecy was more important than the ache of one broken heart, but Harry already felt immensely guilty about hurting Ginny; it was a step too far. He hadn't even had the courage to ask her out on a date himself, which made him feel as if his crime towards her would be even crueller, even more sickening...

Tom was calm, even bored, by all this. Did he not care if Harry became close to someone else? Was he eager to get rid of Harry, perhaps after changing his mind about a few things? There was no real knowing. Harry struggled for a moment to accept an odd sense of rejection. Something in his expression caught Tom's interest.

"You don't care about her, do you?" he asked.

"Why would I care about her? She's Ron's sister. We aren't close."

"Then why do you care? I sense dejection."

Harry dropped his gaze. This was something he felt Tom would never understand. He wasn't in love with Ginny, but he felt a huge amount of respect for her after years of being impressed by her dedication. They had fought alongside each other against Death Eaters, they had won Quidditch matches together... it would be a poor repayment to break her heart for his own gain.

"I don't want to do this," Harry said. "Not to stop Snape, or Dumbledore, or anyone else bothering us... I should end it now, before it gets too far."

Tom saw through his excuse, doubtlessly. He thought about it for a while. The Common Room was silent beyond the sound of crackling fire and winds brushing against the tall windows. Harry could feel Tom's eyes on him. He didn't look up.

"We cannot be together in that way," Tom said.

His voice was low, his tone gentle. Harry pulled at a loose thread on the couch he sat on, his brow furrowed. He said nothing.

"It's the reason you're acting like this, isn't it?" Tom asked. "I'm not easily fooled."

"I'm not trying to fool you..."

Tom gave a hum of laughter, as if the idea of someone trying to trick him was amusing. He became serious again after only a few seconds of viewing Harry's despondent expression.

"This will solve all of our problems, Harry."

"That doesn't make me feel better about it... I don't want a relationship like that."

"What other type of relationship do you desire? Or expect? Even if you did not have to date someone else, we could not realistically be together."

"It'd be more real than faking a relationship with Ginny Weasley. It'd be realer -"

"No," Tom said, "you're mistaken."

"You're here though, aren't you?" Harry asked. He looked up at Tom for the first time, focusing on every detail, as if he expected to see some small imperfection to suggest he wasn't whole. It was Tom's movements, his acts of subtle life, that made Harry truly believe he was there. "It's just -"

He reached out a hand to take Tom's, only to find he wasn't there. He wished he hadn't tried – he didn't know what he had expected. He took in a deep breath, looking away just as he felt it; Tom took his hand instead. Tom was able to hold him. It tortured Harry to feel their fingers intwine.

"What is this about?" he asked quietly, mildly irritated by his inability to work it out himself. "Why can you do that when I can't – I can't feel you..."

"I am not whole," Tom explained.

"But you can do this – you can be almost completely here."

"Yet you cannot hold my hand," Tom observed. "You cannot feel me."

"That doesn't make sense," Harry said. "You can hold my hand whenever we have magic to spare..."

"And what does that tell you?"

Tom's hands were cold, but the look in his eyes was compassionate. He appeared to be waiting patiently for Harry to work everything out. It unnerved Harry greatly, making him pause. He found the answer.

"You need magic to hold my hand?"

"Yes."

"Which means... this is the result of magic, isn't it?"

Tom inclined his head. He appeared serious, almost saddened.

"So... I can't touch you, because you're not real..."

"I am real," Tom said softly. "I am another being, bond to you... but I lack a body."

"So all of this, everything I'm seeing and feeling from you -"

"Is the result of magic, yes."

Harry didn't know what to think of this. Tom sat before him, as clear as any other person might be. Harry was confused and was tired of being confused. Perhaps noticing this, Tom decided to explain it.

"It works by magic dealing with your brain and your perception of reality," Tom explained. "I am an illusion; the sight of me and sounds you hear from me – even the feelings you have when I touch you – are hallucinations. I control them because I am not you."

Harry felt himself pale. He was alarmed for the first time – not only by this information, but by Tom's willingness to admit everything. "You're – you're not here then?"

"I am a soul..."

Harry wanted to say something, to ask more, but he felt like he understood. Tom was a spirit, not a person. It explained why Tom needed so much of their magic; it was far easier to meddle with Harry's perception and appear entirely in a hallucination than it was to use huge amounts of magic to become a real being. With this magic, Tom instead appeared so vividly that even his expressions changed. He looked defeated.

"This is why we cannot be together..."

Harry shook his head, confused. "But I know you're here. We can still be together as long as I can see you. As long as I can hear and understand you, it -"

"It isn't enough," Tom said. "It would be best if I were to gain a real body, because all of this..."

He squeezed Harry's hand lightly, looking down at it.

"...isn't enough."

That was something Harry couldn't argue with. It suddenly felt a lot less enthralling to know that everything was an illusion, a trick. It was disappointing magic, Harry felt, like Muggles were used to. He wished it wasn't true.

"I can feel you," he said again, as if he feared to be contradicted. "You're here..."

To soothe Harry's fear, Tom reached out a hand to cup his face gently. He smiled when he saw Harry blush. His touch felt as real as anything; Harry closed his eyes. He tried to comprehend whether Tom's soul was viewing all of this through his own brain or through a different level of being. He wondered whether it was his own expectations or Tom's choices that made his expression so calming...

Tom was close to him, now. If he had been real, Harry would have closed the distance between them. He would find nothing there if he tried to kiss Tom now. Tom's smile faded after a few moments, perhaps seeing the desire in his Harry's open eyes. He was searching for something in Harry's expression, deciding something. Harry knew he was thinking better, now, of getting close. He removed his hands gently, sitting up straighter on the couch.

Harry wanted to ask Tom again how he could get a new body, but a few things stopped him. He realised Tom wouldn't talk about it because he probably couldn't explain it easily. If he could, he would have done it already – they would already be making plans. A small detail was clearly stopping Tom. It flooded Harry with unease, making him feel that he'd rather not know too much about it so soon. So he stayed silent, telling himself he would bring the subject up again when the right time presented itself.

– X –

That weekend, Harry met up with Ginny in Hogsmeade as planned. The day wasn't a complete disaster, but he barely spoke at first due to his nerves, making Ginny lead most of their conversations. She was patient, as if she understood why he was so distant. It calmed Harry down a lot, but the more they spoke normally, the more he felt like a friend to her rather than a love interest. He didn't know how to feel about it.

By the time night fell, they headed back to Hogwarts and continued to talk in the Gryffindor Common Room. Harry genuinely enjoyed Ginny's company and more than a few times during the night, they joked about things and talked about ideas so deeply that he forgot about his more pressing, more important problems. He forgot about Snape, Dumbledore, Malfoy, and the fear the entire school felt towards him. He forgot about Voldemort and the Death Eaters, and Ron and Hermione. He was calm again for moments at a time.

When Ginny left for bed, Harry had a short conversation with Tom. They didn't have all that much to say to each other. Tom was enthralled by the way things were going and by the fact that Ginny had arranged another date. He didn't listen to it when Harry mentioned Ginny was better off as his friend – he seemed to not believe it. Harry went to bed soon after this, not wanting to be left with his own thoughts.

Ginny had decided to arrange a date with Harry over the weekend, after Quidditch practice. It was an hour before Harry had to endure another detention with Snape, so he tried his best to enjoy this free time, watching the crimson, setting sun fall between the mountains beyond Hogwarts Castle. They sat beneath a large oak tree, watching the view and talking about anything that came to mind.

Harry was vacillating between moments of extreme calmness and extreme guilt for feeling that way. If Ginny noticed his odd behaviour, she neither commented on it nor showed any signs of outward confusion. Harry was endlessly grateful of her patience and strength. She took no offence to his quiet, worried nature; it never unsettled her.

She was, in fact, more levelheaded than Harry had first supposed possible. After working out his behaviour wholly, she realised she had to be brave and adamant about her enthusiasm for them to be together. She understood him and they spoke openly to each other – as openly as Harry could. When Ginny took Harry's hand to hold, smiling softly, Harry's reluctance lasted only a second. It felt natural, calming.

"Are you alright?" she asked him curiously, tearing her eyes from the darkening sunset.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Harry answered automatically.

She was staring at him seriously, as if she knew. "The whole of Hogwarts thinks you're mad. Anyone would be upset about that."

"Yeah, well..."

"It's all nonsense, anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"All of this 'worry' about you." She shook her head, her brown eyes closing in annoyance for a moment. "Most people just love the drama, it's something for them to talk about. Give it another week and everyone will have forgotten about it."

"I hope so," Harry said truthfully.

"I know so." She smiled lightheartedly. "With how much the school talks about you, no one's going to believe every story that's brought up. Mad stories about you are always circling around the school."

"Really?"

"Yes, but you can tell which ones are rubbish. After you realise that no single student could survive an attack of seventy fully-grown Vampires or keep a Dragon hidden in a Muggle residence in London, you start to really doubt similar stories people tell."

Harry sighed, knowing that much worse things were said about him. "You're probably the only person who bothers doubting it, though."

"I don't think that's true."

"How isn't it? I'm just a joke to people, or a threat. Any new stories about me are instantly spread around the school."

"But no one who actually knows you believes any of it," Ginny assured him. "You think I don't defend you in my classes, or back in the Common Room, or out on the Quidditch pitch? You think our old DA members don't doubt it when other students question your sanity as much as they all questioned Dumbledore's last year?"

Harry dropped his gaze, hating the reminder of Dumbledore.

"No one actually fears you, Harry. Other students just find it amusing to gossip about you because they have nothing better to do. There are plenty of people who will stay by your side, the whole of Dumbledore's Army included."

"Dumbledore's Army is over," Harry reminded her. "For all I know, everyone could have moved on to hate me like the rest of the school does. They could all be – I dunno – plotting revenge or spreading rumours or something."

"I can't imagine Luna Lovegood starting a hateful society up against you, somehow."

Harry smiled at this. He imaged Luna standing before a table in the Great Hall, handing out badges depicting a drawing of him being repetitively defeated by unidentifiable, unknown magical creatures.

"They could be called S.H.E.E.P," Ginny suggested with a laugh, "the 'Society for Hating Everything, Especially Potter'."

"That club has existed for a while," Harry told her.

"True, I suppose," she said, her eyes alight with humour. "Malfoy has been at Hogwarts for a fair for years. Luna would run a new 'S.H.E.E.P.' club: the 'Society of Hypocrites Eagerly Enraging Potter'. We'd get free coins at every meeting that spin whenever you're less than a corridor away."

Despite the truth behind some students' distaste, Harry found himself laughing. He wondered if the DA members did truly respect him when he wasn't around. He wondered if they still talked about last year and whether any friends made during the formation of DA still remained. He hadn't been in-touch enough with people to know. It made him feel strangely lonely.

The sun had set and cold winds had begun surrounding Harry and Ginny, coming from the distant treetops of the Forbidden Forest. Ginny's palm softly pressed against his own was soon the only warmth Harry felt, so they were forced to leave for the Castle. Their pace slowed significantly when they passed through the oak front doors. Ginny's hand remained clasped around Harry's gently, leading him onwards as they talked.

Up more staircases and through many corridors and passages, it was pleasant to walk through the school and take in every detail of it. Harry enjoyed seeing how Ginny made her way through the castle, noticing the influence Fred and George had had on her knowledge of secret passages. They were on the Seventh Floor, nearing the Common Room, when Ginny stopped midway through a corridor.

"It's just down here," Harry said, indicating the path as if she had forgotten.

"I know."

He stared for a moment, confused. "Why are we stopping?"

Ginny smirked, looking away for a moment. "I wanted you to know, I enjoyed spending so much time with you today."

For a moment, Harry liked hearing this. She noticed it when guilt then caught up with him, but she said nothing.

"I enjoyed it too," her told her quietly.

She smiled again. Then, before Harry knew it, she stepped forwards. Harry watched her numbly, feeling her hand squeeze his gently just as she leant in, pressing her lips to his. It was a gentle kiss, but anything more would have alarmed Harry too much. Ginny looked at him closely when they parted, her eyes full of contentment. She moved away from him gracefully, her hand slipping from his waist.

"We should go out again," she said. "Maybe meet up in the library, tomorrow? If you're free."

"Yeah," he agreed without thinking. He planned to think of an excuse by tomorrow. "That'd be good..."

Not needing to say a word more, they headed to the Fat Lady down the corridor. Although Ginny was mature about it, Harry supposed this was only because her enjoyment for the evening wasn't tainted by horrid thoughts. As they entered the Common Room, he thought about his betrayal. He thought about the importance of surviving compared to the importance of not hurting other people...

He didn't have any idea what he was doing, nor what to do to make things right. All he knew was that it would be totally possible to fake a relationship with Ginny. All he had to do was give her a few white lies without breaking down under guilt first...

– X –

Before Harry found a way to avoid it, he was dating Ginny Weasley. That is to say, he was seeing her often enough and becoming close enough to her that suspicions were beginning to raise amongst the closest students to them. Their relationship was calm and sweet, because Ginny believed Harry was shy. She had no idea that he was running off into the castle for hours on end to learn complicated, dark magic in self-defence. She was treating him more kindly than he deserved, torturing him further.

Harry hid his sorrows from her, naturally. This, as well as practising new magic with Tom, forced Harry to focus on important things in his free time, pushing away all his bad feelings. He spent so much time pretending to be alright that he forgot about his fearfulness quite often. The only time he brooded, the only time he felt truly terrible, is when he lay awake at night, safe in the knowledge that no one was around.

Harry wished he hadn't chosen Ginny to date. He wished he had used someone new, someone he had had no previous connection to, because the fact remained that he did care about her on some level. When she helped him, when she knew exactly what to do to calm him down, sorrow tightened its hold on him in spite. He refused to get too close to her too often. It was too much to take.

He hoped she didn't take offence to the way he acted. He respected Ginny and admired her on many levels, but every time their lips met, every time she held his hand, he thought about Tom. It wasn't that he wasn't attracted to her, because he realised that he felt comfortable affection for her, too, in that way. He just knew that this relationship was the greatest betrayal of all to her.

Tom seemed to be unaffected by everything going on. When Harry mentioned his relationship with Ginny, Tom spoke of it like an idea, like a mechanical arrangement. It pained Harry to think Tom didn't feel anything towards him. If he showed just a moment of dissatisfaction, a moment of jealousy, Harry would relax. But no moments ever occurred. Harry was forced to conclude that Tom regretted ever getting close to him, even if he didn't know why.

As time began to pass and Harry's melancholy worsened, Ginny began to realise he was too distant and reluctant to be perfectly happy. She didn't speak about her suspicions at first, but Harry began to see a change in her behaviour. She was more cautious, more calculating. There was only so much patience she could have before she looked into it directly.

"Where have you been going, lately?" she asked him suspiciously one night. He had just declined an offer to eat dinner with her in the Great Hall before finding a secluded corridor to talk in. "You've been going missing for hours at a time. I know you don't have classes, nor detention, and you haven't been around any of your friends."

"I've been studying," he said quickly. "I don't want to fall behind on work."

"Your grades are great at the moment," she observed. "You don't need to study that much. It's not like you have N.E.W.T.s this year."

"I still need to study. I need to get loads of work done -"

"It's almost the end of the year."

"Exactly!"

She shook hear head, her expression serious. "Why don't you want to spend more time with me?"

"What?" Harry asked quickly. His heart sank. "No, it's not like that -"

"I'm not that thick. I know you're not all that interested."

"Why – why do you think that?"

She laughed in disbelief. It wasn't a cruel response, it was to hide her discomfort. "I'm not stupid."

"I never said you were."

"You act like I am."

She was glaring lightly now, clearly rethinking quite a few things. Harry regretted faking this relationship for a new reason in that moment; she would seek revenge on him using her, surely. He hated knowing that she'd think so badly of him.

"So, where do you go when you disappear?" she asked sourly.

"To study. I have too much work."

This annoyed her further. She knew it was a lie and she wasn't pleased to hear him repeat it.

"If you don't want to tell me, then don't. I just hope you know what you're doing..."

She stood up, turning away.

"No, wait! Ginny -"

It was too late, she was walking away. Harry jumped up.

"Don't do this – I don't mean to offend you!"

She didn't look back. Irritated and anxious, Harry watched her disappear around a corner.

He knew she had figured it out and she wasn't interested in hearing him lie again. It was a painful realisation, one accompanied by a certain amount of dread. Despite Tom's confidence in the idea that it'd take weeks for Ginny to figure out the situation, she had seen a fault in Harry's eagerness to date her. She had noticed his disappearances and she was never going to stop thinking about it...

Harry didn't want to make up bigger lies to get through this, but he couldn't stop any of his lessons with Tom. They were getting so much work done, it would be a complete waste to cut off the few hours they had to practice each day. As Ginny walked away, Harry realised this had to end soon. Tom appeared almost the moment this thought popped into his head. He was confused by Harry's discomfort. They headed into an empty classroom.

"That's it," Harry said flatly, a storm of emotions raging within him, "I'm going to tell her it's over."

"Why would you do that?" Tom asked, confused. He watched Harry pace back and forth, his brown furrowed.

"I can't do this," Harry told him, "I can't treat the people I know – the people I care about the most – with so much dishonesty..."

"You know why we must do this, Harry," Tom said clearly. "You know what might happen if the school notices your disappearances."

"But if things carry on like this, Ginny's going to figure out everything on her own. She's not an idiot, Tom, she's already suspicious."

"It is natural to be paranoid, Harry -"

"I'm not being paranoid!"

"- but hiding the truth from one girl is far more convenient, far more manageable, than tricking an entire school."

Harry knew Tom was right about that, but he refused to admit it. Stress gripped him wholly, lessening his ability to think straight.

"There are far more important things for us to worry about than the heart of one girl or the blind, ignorant assumptions of nearby students," Tom added.

"But I can't live like this, Tom. I can't keep hurting her!"

"Why are you so reluctant to complete this simple task?" Tom asked, sounding weary for the first time. "Why do you relentlessly oppose this relationship with Ginny Weasley, despite the many promising results – such as being saved from from death itself?"

Harry looked away, annoyed. He wished Tom could understand this more easily. His eagerness to let this fake relationship with Ginny happen made Harry fear Tom had lied to him in the past, and as a result he broke instantly, indignation twisting his expression into a scowl.

"I'm not you, Tom," he said coldly. "I can't fake a romantic interest to manipulate people for my own gain..."

Tom stared, stunned. His eyes narrowed.

"Is that what this is about?" he asked. "You believe me to be guilty of using you?"

Harry looked away again, saying nothing. Tom took this as a 'yes'.

"I never manipulated you," he said firmly. "I never so much as tried to mislead you – you know this!"

"I don't believe it..."

"Can you not see how allowing you to form a false relationship with Ginny Weasley has allowed us both to stay undetected by Dumbledore? This is more than a fair price for our freedom. This is about staying alive, Harry!"

There were too much of a chance that Tom could be lying about all of this, Harry felt. He wished he could leave Tom in this deserted classroom. He wasn't prepared for this...

"If you feel like I have lied to you about what I am, about what I am capable of doing, know that my offence was unintentional," Tom said. "I have told you as much of the truth as I can, concerning everything. You know this..."

Harry wanted to believe this, but it wasn't enough. He knew a few things didn't add up.

"Why wouldn't you just be with me, if you wanted to?" he asked. "If you can..."

Tom did not answer immediately. He became very still, lost in thought. "Because I cannot be with you, truly..."

"What if you could?" Harry asked. "What if you gained a body?"

Tom's eyes, however unreal, lit up for a fleeting moment. He seemed surprised to hear Harry suggest that he could indeed become human again, until the stunned hope dimmed within him. He shook his head gently, turning his burning red eyes away.

"That would be most troublesome..."

"Why?" Harry pressed. "How can you gain a body?"

Tom was reluctant to speak. He rarely looked away from Harry as often as he did now.

"Please tell me," Harry urged. "I don't care how complicated it is or – or how mad it sounds. I'd rather know the truth."

"The truth is not always kind..."

"You think I don't know that?"

Tom might not have heard him. He wasn't glad to have this conversation; he became submerged in thought. Harry said nothing, waiting for him to talk. He knew he would; his hopes rose when Tom straightened up, his solemn expression never changing.

"In honesty," he began quietly, "I cannot be sure whether or not obtaining a body is possible through the process I intend to use... Even as a soul, I am in a unique position. I am bound to you, yet I wish to gain a new body. I have devised a plan to become whole again, yet the magic I intend to use is experimental, and dangerous to say the least. The process would be long and tedious at times, thus it would require preparations and a certain degree of persistence to work..."

"How would we start?"

"We would begin by obtaining a large amount of magic. Specifically, magic from another witch or wizard."

Harry was surprised. "You can do that?"

"Yes, but it is difficult. We may even be forced to take the magic of several wizards, depending on how much of our own magic we can spare on completing the spells and enchantments required to animate a new body."

"Right... So, how are we supposed to take peoples' magic without them realising it?"

"We must obtain all the remaining energy and life from a witch or wizard prior to their death. I'll move into their body, stealing their magic with the aid of our own."

Harry was bewildered. "How are we meant to find a dying witch or wizard to start this with? We can't exactly walk into St Mungo's and demand a patient to experiment on."

"No, that would be foolish," Tom said. "A sick person would never do – their energy would be low, their magic: nonexistent."

"So, what do we do? If we can't use a sick person, then..."

Harry stopped. The answer found him suddenly, making him pause. Blood drained from his face.

"Unless... Unless we find a healthy person..."

"Preferably a young, strong witch or wizard," Tom added, ignorant of Harry's sudden fear. "Assuming we kill them quickly, we can obtain a satisfactory amount of magic for our own use."

Harry felt as if he might be sick from the shock alone. More thoughts clouded him.

"We – we have to kill someone?"

Tom watched him for a moment, before inclining his head silently.

"That's why you wanted me to leave Malfoy, isn't it?" Harry asked in a low voice. "After that spell I used, when he was bleeding. You wanted to steal his life..."

Tom had clearly noticed Harry's odd behaviour, now. He thought about it for a fleeting moment. "Does that alarm you?"

Anger gripped Harry immediately. "Does that-? Of course it alarms me, Tom!"

Tom was annoyed too for the first time. "Why? You are no foreigner to such sacrifices, Harry."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You have killed before," Tom said. "When you were young. In your first year here at Hogwarts."

"What?"

This amused Tom, making him smile through his irritation. "Have you forgotten about Quirrell, your first Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?"

For a moment, Harry was stunned into speechlessness. He froze up.

"It is shocking," Tom carried on in a slow, cruel tone, "to see how easily Dumbledore has forced the school to forget about your kill... but it is more impressive still to see how fully he has fooled you."

"He never fooled me," Harry said irritably, "I knew what I was doing."

"Are you quite sure?"

"Quirrell would have killed thousands of people for Voldemort, he was insane!"

"Does that make murder easier to accept?"

"I'm not a murderer!"

"You took the life of a man at the age of eleven. You condemned the Dementor's Kiss on Peter Pettigrew at the age of thirteen. Do you really believe these are not acts of murder?"

Harry wanted to be angry, but there was nothing he could say. He felt like Tom was twisting stories, twisting words, but he couldn't honestly see how.

"Dumbledore is a coward, like many who fear the Dark Arts," Tom carried on. "Too many weak leaders have taught their followers not that it is wrong to kill, but that it is wrong to kill inconveniently... If you are opposed to murder, if you believe it is a wicked act if not committed only in revenge, remember this: nobody is innocent. All murderers believe they are right, but only some of them have governments and mass amounts of people cheering them on..."

"Quirrel wasn't innocent," Harry said, his head spinning. "I'm not a murderer – I would never kill anyone who doesn't deserve it! Nor would Dumbledore, or anyone else who opposes the Dark Arts!"

Tom was surprised. "Have you forgotten what Dumbledore told Snape? Have you forgotten their arrangement, their agreement to kill you?"

Anger and anxiety tore at Harry's chest. He had indeed forgotten about that...

"It's in your nature to kill, Harry," Tom said softly.

"You're wrong..."

"The world is going to want you dead in a matter of months. Dumbledore has betrayed you. Your friends have neglected you... Please don't be so ignorant as to hold onto the lies Dumbledore has fed you. He did not want you to survive. He never prepared you for the real world, where you will be forced to kill or be killed. This is war..."

Harry's heart was pounding in his chest, making him feel weak. He knew he wouldn't stand a chance fighting for himself. He knew he didn't have much time left. The room was spinning.

"I... I'll need you there for me..."

Tom may have been watching him, but Harry didn't look up.

"I know," he said.

It was inevitable, Harry realised, that murder would happen again. He decided to make a deal.

"If we need to take somebody's magic, if we need to – to kill them... I refuse to kill any innocent person."

"If this is your only request, I cannot object..."

"How does it work? How can you even steal magic?"

"I must take control of another person's body. I must absorb their energy while they die."

"And you steal their body?"

"No. I shall store their energy in you to later create a body."

"From what it sounds like... you'll attach yourself on someone else's body, like with mine now."

"Yes."

"Is that – is that what you've been doing to me, then?"

Tom watched him closely. "I'm not stealing your energy."

"But you could... you could steal my body. You could kill me and take over if you wanted to, couldn't you?"

He didn't bother lying. With a nod, he said, "Yes."

This was all too much to take. Harry's stomach was squirming. "But you chose not to... Why did you chose not to?"

Tom frowned. "Is the answer not obvious?"

"No..."

Tom seemed unsure whether or not to believe this. "I cared about you. I couldn't let you go."

They stood very still for a moment, watching each other as if they expected the other to react badly. The weight of these words was so heavy that neither of them were willing to pick the conversation up again. Harry didn't know if Tom's reaction was sincere, but a soft expression crossed his face. It was terrible to think that at any moment, Tom could choose to take over Harry's body instead...

For a day, Harry was paranoid. He was wary of Tom's power and his ability to manipulate people for his own gain and he panicked deeply about what he could do. It wasn't until he remembered his other foes that he trusted Tom again. He remembered that Dumbledore and Voldemort would readily kill him if they had a chance like this, so why would Tom wait, if he felt the same as them?

If Tom got a body, Harry would feel safe. They could fight alongside each other to ensure that neither Dumbledore nor Voldemort got what they truly wanted...

– X –

"What's distracting you?"

This had to be the fifteenth time Ginny had asked him that this evening. Harry suppressed the urge to snap at her, closing his eyes irritably for a few seconds. "Nothing's distracting me," he told her. "I just have a lot of work to catch up on, that's all."

She didn't believe it. It was as if she either knew the situation more clearly than she was letting on or she could read Harry's mind, but Occlumency didn't work against her. Some innate ability gave her a warning every time someone dared to tell a lie. She pursed her lips, reminding Harry of Mrs Weasley instantly.

"You keep saying that, but I can't understand how you could have this much work to do."

"You haven't tried studying for NEWTs, then."

"And I'm not looking forwards to it."

Harry said nothing to this, distracted by his potions essay.

"You don't spend any time with me," Ginny mentioned.

"Look, we've both been busy," Harry reminded her. "That doesn't mean I don't want to spend time with you. I just can't fall behind on work for it."

She was annoyed by his severity. "Since when did you become Hermione?"

"Since when did you last have responsibilities?"

She glared at him, furious now. "You can't talk to me like that!"

"Watch me..."

Harry didn't know whether he was doing this out of real anger towards her or whether some part of him just understood this relationship wasn't right. He felt guilty, either way. As outraged as she was, she seemed to notice his guilt.

She studied him for a moment, her eyes darting across his face. "You're exhausting yourself."

"I just have a lot to deal with right now..."

She shook her head, as if this answer wasn't enough. "No, that's not all."

Harry was silent. He waited for her to talk, unsure what she was feeling.

"You're stressed," she said quietly. "There's something wrong, isn't there? Something more than school?"

Harry dropped his gaze. He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped.

This, apparently, was the wrong response. Ginny immediately saw it as a bad sign; Harry could see worry flood through her. "What's happened?"

"Nothing," he said, sounding bothered.

"Something's changed," she said.

"Really, Ginny, just leave it -"

"No! I know something's gone wrong. Is this about Voldemort?"

Harry's mouth was suddenly very dry. "I don't know what you're on about..."

"You've been distant for months, you haven't spoken a word about what you're going through – please just explain it to me."

"There's nothing to explain."

"You haven't even told us what happened between you and Malfoy. You're hiding everything."

"Who's 'us'?" Harry asked, annoyed. "Ron and Hermione aren't a part of this."

"They're worried about you."

"Well, tough."

She stared at him. "Don't you care? They're your best friends."

Harry was mute. He wished they'd just leave him alone.

"What happened with Malfoy?"

Harry stood up. This conversation was too dangerous.

Ginny stood up too, advancing. "I know something's happened, Harry. Whatever it is, you clearly can't deal with it on your own. You're scaring everyone, you're refusing to talk – the least you can do is explain why."

"Leave it..."

She stared at him, at a loss for words. Harry looked back at her for the first time properly, worrying that she was too smart for him to fool. She was dangerous not because she was a snitch, but because she knew the pain he was going through. She knew what it was like to become entranced by Tom. In this moment, Harry saw memories of him cross her mind.

"Harry," she said in a low voice, "don't shut me out..."

There was no way she could realistically guess that he was seeing Tom, but Harry was tremendously paranoid about it nonetheless. It was obvious, to her. She was empathetic to his suffering, no matter what was causing it, and she wanted to help.

But there was nothing Ginny could do to stop Dumbledore's plans. There was noting she could do to protect him from Voldemort. Her involvement in all of this would only endanger the both of them severely and Harry couldn't let that happen. She would be scared of Tom, anyway. She wouldn't be able to understand the situation, because she only knew the Diary from the past, not this Tom. Not Harry's Tom...

"I have to go..."

"No, wait!"

Harry didn't listen to her. He was on his way out of the room.

She didn't try anything more to stop him. He made his way blindly through the school, his heart hammering in his chest. He knew Ginny wasn't going to stop asking him about all of this. He wasn't looking forwards to Tom's reaction to all of this, either – to avoid it for now, Harry headed up to the Gryffindor Tower.

He stopped outside the entrance to the Common Room when Jimmy Peakes began calling after him. He was waving a roll of parchment in one hand, telling Harry it was urgent that he read it.

Tom had caught up with Harry. It wouldn't be a surprise if he had been there all along.

"Thanks, Jimmy..."

Tom was silent as Harry began unravelling the parchment. They both knew this letter was from Dumbledore, even before Harry recognised his handwriting. When Jimmy disappeared behind the Fat Lady's portrait, Harry and Tom exchanged looks of understanding.

"He must have found a Horcrux," Tom said.

"Let's go," Harry murmured. "Now..."

They raced down a few corridors without stopping, being disturbed by nobody but Peeves in this late hour. It was only after standing alone with Tom again when Harry heard it; a woman was shouting in the distance.

"How – dare – you – aaaaargh!"

Harry ran towards the source of commotion, Tom following close behind him. On a wide, open corridor, they found that Professor Trelawney had fallen over amongst several sherry bottles, getting tangled up in one of her shawls.

"Professor -"

Harry began helping her up hastily, catching a strong scent of alcohol from her when she hiccoughed. Straightening her huge glasses and turning dazed eyes towards Harry, she attempted to steady herself with his arm.

"What happened, Professor?"

"You may well ask!" she answered shrilly. "I was strolling along, brooding upon certain Dark portents I happen to have glimpsed..."

Harry wasn't listening. He glanced at Tom, who seemed bored and annoyed by Trelawney's presence. He was wondering to himself how soon he could get away from Trelawney when he noticed it; the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy attempting to teach Trolls the ballet stood just behind Tom.

"Professor, were you truing to get into the Room of Requirement?"

"...omens I have been vouchsafed – what?"

Magnified eyes widened behind her large glasses.

"The Room of Requirement," Harry repeated. "Were you trying to get in there?"

"I – well – I didn't know students knew about -"

"Not all of them do. But what happened? You screamed... it sounded as thought you were hurt..."

"I – well," she stammered uncomfortably, folding her shawls in closer, "I wished to – ah – deposit certain – um – personal items in the Room... nasty accusations..."

"Right... but you couldn't get in and hide them?"

Tom was interested for the first time, watching the conversation silently.

"Oh, I got in all right," the Professor told him, scowling at the very thought, "but there was somebody already in there."

"Somebody in-? Who? Who was there?"

"I have no idea," she answered, frowning at Harry's eagerness. "I walked into the Room and heard a voice, which has never happened before in all my years of hiding – of using the Room, I mean."

"A voice?" he repeated. "Saying what?"

"I don't know that it was saying anything. It was... whooping."

"Whooping?"

"Gleefully," she said, nodding.

Harry glanced at Tom. He knew they shared the same suspicion.

"Was it male or female?" he asked the Professor.

"I would hazard a guess at male," she answered.

"And it sounded happy?"

"Very happy."

"As though it was celebrating?"

"Most definitely."

Tom's eyes were alight with caution.

"And then-?"

"And then I called out, 'Who's there?'" Trelawney told him.

"You couldn't have found out who it was without asking?" Harry asked her, irritated by this.

"The Inner Eye," she said with dignity, straightening up to the sound of glittering beads hitting against each other, "was fixed upon matters well outside the mundane realms of whooping voices."

"Right," said Harry in a bored, impatient tone, "and did the voice say who was there?"

"No, it did not," she said. "Everything went pitch black and the next thing I knew, I was being hurtled headfirst out of the Room!"

"And you didn't see that coming?" Harry asked, unable to help himself.

"No, I did not, as I say, it was pitch-"

She stopped, realising what he meant. She glared at him.

Harry knew all of this was too important to ignore. Glancing at Tom one more time, he mulled over the possibility of someone closer to Trelawney – Dumbledore, specifically – getting this information out of her. Harry knew Malfoy had to be the one celebrating in the Room of Requirement and it was a terrible sign. If he was letting Death Eaters into the school tonight, Harry had to know about it...

Tom, who had read Harry's thought process, inclined his head once in approval of this plan. Harry turned back to Trelawney.

"I think you'd better tell Professor Dumbledore," he said. "He ought to know someone threw you out of the Room."

Professor Trelawney drew herself up to the fullest height, looking haughty at the suggestion.

"The Headmaster has intimated that he would prefer fewer visits from me," she said coldly. "I am not one to press my company upon those who do not value it. If Dumbledore chooses to ignore the warnings the cards show-"

Her bony hand reached out for Harry's wrist, clutching at it.

"Again and again, no matter how I lay them out -"

She withdrew a card from beneath her shawls, her expression dramatic.

"- the lightning-struck tower," she whispered. "Calamity. Disaster. Coming near all the time..."

Harry stared at her, suddenly alarmed and slightly repulsed by the stench of alcohol on her breath.

"Right," he said, "Well... I still think you should tell Dumbledore about the voice and everything going dark and being thrown out of the Room..."

"You think so?" she asked, considering the idea. Harry could see she enjoyed the idea of retelling her little adventure.

"I'm going to see him right now," Harry told her. "I've got a meeting with him. We can go together."

"Oh, well, in that case..."

Smiling, she scooped up her sherry bottles and dumped them in a large blue and white vase in a nearby niche. She seemed to enjoy Harry's company, but after a few minutes of hearing her drunkenly discuss the various problems on her mind, Harry began to regret his decision of taking her to Dumbledore.

Tom didn't say a single word as they walked, but his expression of caution remained. Harry worried he might disappear from sight before they got to Dumbledore's office. The thought played on his mind so much that he didn't listen very much to what Trelawney was saying.

"I remember my first interview with Dumbledore," she told him, oblivious to the fact he didn't care. "He was deeply impressed, of course, deeply impressed... I was staying at the Hog's Head, which I do not advise, incidentally – bed bugs, my dear boy – but funds were low. Dumbledore did me the courtesy of calling upon me in my room at the inn. He questioned me... I must confess that, at first, I thought he seemed ill-disposed towards Divination... and I remember I was starting to feel a little odd, I had not eaten much that day... but then..."

She had caught his attention. Harry knew what happened next: Processor Trelawney had made the prophecy that altered his whole life, the prophecy about him and Voldemort.

"...but then we were rudely interrupted by Severus Snape!"

"What?"

"Yes, there was a commotion outside the door and it flew open, and there was that rather uncouth barman standing with Snape, who was waffling about having come the wrong way up the stairs, although I'm afraid that I myself rather thought he had been apprehended eavesdropping on my interview with Dumbledore – you see, he himself was seeking a job at the time, and no doubt hoped to pick up tips! Well, after that, you know, Dumbledore seemed much more disposed to give me a job, and I could not help thinking, Harry, that it was because he appreciated the start contrast between -"

Harry could no longer hear a word she was saying. He had stopped dead, rooted to the spot by the horror that struck him. Snape... It was Snape who had informed Voldemort about the prophecy. It was Snape who had sent Lily and James to their deaths, likely as a result of his fierce hate for Harry's father, and nothing more...

"- my own unassuming manners and quiet talent, compared to the pushing, thrusting young man who was prepared to listen at keyholes - Harry, dear?" Trelawney asked, only just noticing his distance.

"_Dumbledore knew_", he hissed. "_Dumbledore always knew..._"

"Harry?"

He couldn't answer her. He couldn't even look up at Tom, who stood close by, watching him.

Trelawney might have been alarmed by Harry's hissing, but in that moment he couldn't care any less. He looked at Tom, meeting his wide, alarmed eyes. He had never seem Tom so watchful, so panicked. Even he, apparently, could not foresee something like this.

As they looked at each other, Harry knew he and Tom shared the same thought. They both realised that either Snape was working for Voldemort and Dumbledore supported it, or Dumbledore was too ignorant and forgiving to understand the situation. Regardless of who was on who's side, Harry now understood just how close certain betrayals tied the Dark and Light sides. He understood that he had been lied to all his life about who had been a part of murdering his family...

Fury latched onto Harry, burning his skin and blinding his eyes. He was unable to move in fear of his own actions. Tom watched rage and sorrow pass across his mind, but he didn't need to say a word about it. Dumbledore was ignoring signs of impending doom because he had given up. Draco was celebrating a success, inevitably meaning danger would strike Hogwarts tonight, but Dumbledore would be gone, regardless, in search of a Horcrux. He would be ignorant of how much Harry knew, ignorant of the whole truth being revealed...

To contain his rage, to keep his mind clear, Harry was going to refrain from telling Dumbledore what he had learnt tonight. Harry would leave Trelawney here, arriving at Dumbledore's office as usual. They would hunt the Horcrux, destroying it... then Harry would have his revenge. A change had happened in him tonight and Tom could see it clearly. He could understand the plan Harry was forming and he approved of it very much... Together, they would fight this war.


	14. Lost

14 – Lost

In a trance, in a daze, Harry headed for Dumbledore's office. His footsteps were quick and clumsy; he felt distanced from reality, as if he was watching his life from a long way away. Before entering Dumbledore's office, before even knocking, a shield of calmness fell over him. Tom had taken over his thoughts, partially, to protect him in a subtle mastery of Occlumency. He did it to concealing all the rage, all the pain Harry felt, so the information they had learnt about Snape would remain safe...

Harry was grateful of Tom's caution. With it, Harry was able to hold a normal conversation with Dumbledore, learning that they were indeed going to hunt one of Voldemort's Horcruxes tonight. When Harry's mind wandered to thoughts of Snape, the thought would immediate break and disappear, like a fragile wisp of smoke, like a forgotten realisation. Dumbledore was oblivious to Harry's strange behaviour; he was distracted wholly by finding the next Horcrux. He told Harry that they were leaving the school at once.

Under Dumbledore's orders, Harry left the office in his numbed state to retrieve the Invisibility Cloak from the Gryffindor Tower. In the Common Room, he ran up to the dormitory, followed shortly by Tom, who watched silently as he grabbed the Cloak, the Marauder's Map, and, for good measure, what remained of his Lucky Potion. When he left the room to speed quickly towards the portrait hole, he was stopped by Ron and Hermione. They were alarmed by his restlessness.

"We heard you went to see Dumbledore," Hermione told him at once. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. How did you hear-?"

"Jimmy Peakes was asking after you earlier," said Ron.

"We've been worried ever since," Hermione added.

"Yeah, well, I don't have time to explain," Harry said impatiently. "I have to go."

"Wait!"

Hermione grabbed his arm, looking at him seriously.

"Harry, what's happened?"

"There's no time –"

"Then make time!"

Harry wanted to give her a short, annoyed retort, but he was stopped by the terrified, hurt looks both Ron and Hermione showed. Pulling his arm from Hermione's grasp in vague irritation, he repeated what Dumbledore had told him – that they had found a Horcrux, that they were hunting it now – but he hesitated when it came to explaining what else was bothering him.

"There's – sort of something else," he began lamely. "Something worse..."

"What is it?"

He decided to leave out everything he had learnt about Snape. Gliding over many details, he explained it as fast as possible.

"On my way to Dumbledore's office, I caught Trelawney hiding cherry bottles outside of the Room of Requirement. It turns out she'd been thrown out of the Room by someone celebrating inside – it has to be Malfoy. It _has_ to be him completing whatever it is he's doing for Voldemort."

"But –" Ron began.

"Just trust me!" Harry told him forcibly. "I followed Malfoy a few months ago, right into the Room, and I saw the Dark Mark on him. He has it – he's been doing work for Voldemort and he's succeeding now more than ever! The Death Eaters are probably on their way here and Snape will be amongst them – he can't be trusted –"

Hermione gasped, her eyes huge with fear. She seemed unable to believe what was going on.

"How did you follow –?"

"Malfoy's finished with his work and he's celebrating," Harry carried on breathlessly, ignoring Ron, "so you see what this means? Dumbledore won't be here tonight, so Malfoy's going to have another clear shot at whatever he's up to."

"But you can't know if-"

"_No, listen to me!_ I know it was Malfoy celebrating in the Room of Requirement!"

Ron and Hermione stopped trying to interrupt him at once. They looked dubious and Harry understood what he must do.

"Here –"

A mix of guilt and wanting to clear his own name forced him to hand Hermione the Marauder's Map.

"You've got to watch him and you've _got_ to watch Snape too. Use anyone else who you can rustle up from the DA. Hermione, those contact Galleons will still work, right? Dumbledore says he's put extra protection in the school, but if Snape's involved, he'll know what Dumbledore's protection is, and how to avoid it – but be won't be expecting you lot to be on the watch, will he?"

"Harry –" Hermione began.

"I haven't got time to argue! Just do what I say – that way, you'll be safe if I'm right or wrong, right?"

"I – I suppose," said Ron shakily.

Harry looked at them both carefully. He was tempted to leave now, but something was holding him back, some nagging guilt he couldn't shake off. Tom watched him closely, but in spite of this and in spite of his own anger at Snape and Dumbledore, Harry worried about what would happen to Ron and Hermione tonight. They had caused him no harm, but he was pushing them into danger...

"Here, take this as well – "

He thrust a pair of socks into Ron's hands.

"Thanks," said Ron. "Er – why do I need socks?"

"You need what's wrapped in them, it's Felix Felicis. Share it between yourselves. I'd better go, Dumbledore's waiting –"

"No!" Hermione cried at once, while Ron examined the little bottle in awe. "We don't want it, you take it –"

Harry didn't listen. He knew he wouldn't need luck when he had Tom with him. He turned to go. "I want to know you two are okay... I'll see you later..."

He left before they could say another word. Tom turned invisible to Harry, to save what precious energy they had. Harry felt alert with anticipation and paranoia. He could feel Tom in his head, preparing him for when he met up with Dumbledore in the Entrance Hall. Dumbledore greeted him pleasantly, telling him to get under the Invisibility Cloak for convenience. When Harry obeyed, they made their way out of the castle, meeting a surprisingly calm world outside.

Together, he and Dumbledore made their way to Hogsmeade. Harry was barely aware of what was going on; his attention was fixed on Snape's betrayal before Tom silenced his thoughts again and again in an inner battle. The feelings seemed to bottle up, growing worse. Dumbledore spoke briefly to Madam Rosmerta, telling her he was headed for the Hog's Head Inn. When she clarified that this decision was understandable, Dumbledore led Harry down a winding road, but they stopped quit a distance from the pub. They were satisfactorily out of sight.

"It will not be necessary for us to enter," muttered Dumbledore, glancing around. "As long as nobody sees us go... now place your hand upon my arm, Harry. There is no need to grip too hard, I am merely guiding you. On the count of three – one... two... three..."

Harry turned. At once, there was that horrible sensation of being squeezed through a thick rubber tube; he could not draw breath, every part of him was being compressed almost past endurance and then, just when he thought he must suffocate, the invisible bands seemed to burst open, and he was standing in cool darkness, breathing in lungfuls of fresh, salty air.

Harry felt as if he had left some of his fury behind in Hogsmeade. He was distracted wholly by the cold, dark seaside in their new destination. Waves crashed against the rough, black walls of the cliffs that surrounded Harry and Dumbledore. The powerful, salty winds that blew past them rustled Harry's hair and implored caution as he looked down at the drop ahead. Foamy waves churned far below, pressing over and over again to the dark surface and jutting cuts of rock.

After a short conversation, Dumbledore explained that Riddle had been brought here as an orphan, thus Voldemort had likely chosen this spot as a secure hiding place for a Horcrux. Showing Harry a steep decline towards the sea water and a nearby opening in the cliff, Dumbledore's suspicions were further confirmed. Together, they slipped from a low rock into the sea, swimming towards a freezing tunnel cut through rock.

All that lit this tiny space was the light of Dumbledore's wand up ahead of Harry. Tom didn't allowed his thoughts to wander even as Dumbledore swam far ahead of him. Dumbledore began to rise out of the water, climbing steps that lead to a small area of damp, dark land. Harry thought about Snape, before his thought were silenced. He thought about Dumbledore's easy forgiveness. Harry didn't feel like they shared this characteristic... Dumbledore examined the rocky walls that blocked them from this point on, spinning on the spot, concentrating on magic Harry could not detect.

"This is merely the ante-chamber, the entrance hall," Dumbledore said. "We need to penetrate the inner place... now it is Lord Voldemort's obstacles that stand in our way, rather than those nature made..."

After some examination and determination, he worked out how to access the Cave. Harry was barely listening to the thoughts Dumbledore murmured. He was shocked when Dumbledore took out a knife, slitting his arm open to reveal blood. When the red liquid spurted on the rock's surface, an entrance appeared and a section of wall vanished. Dumbledore stepped through the archway and Harry followed attentively, taking in the sight of the Cave before them.

They stood on the bank of a smooth, black lake. Even with the aid of wand-light, they couldn't make out where the water ended on the opposite shores or where the roof of the cave curled over them. A hue of green mist was visible in what looked like the middle of this great chamber, on an island above the still water. It was so dark, movement was hard to detect...

"Let us walk," said Dumbledore quietly. "Be very careful not to step into the water. Stay close to me..."

They made their way along the bank. It was only very occasionally that Tom made Harry talk, speaking to Dumbledore through Harry's mouth. He was surprised, a few minutes later, when Dumbledore detected the magic of a boat beneath the water. He had found an invisible chain, tapping it with his wand to make it seen and to pull the boat from the water. Dumbledore told Harry that this boat was designed for one wizard, but since he was underage, he would not be detected. At first, Harry was unsure to believe it, but when he climbed into the small boat, he found no danger here.

On their way across the lake, Harry spotted pale, deadened bodies caught in the light of his wand, disappearing slowly into the water. Dumbledore calmed his fear verbally while Tom tried to cut off his thoughts again. It took everything in Harry's power to not be terrified, making him wonder if Tom, too, was scared. More bodies floated beneath them on their way to the island. Harry was glad when he had a chance to clamber out of the boat, stepping onto smooth rock.

"Careful not to touch the water," Dumbledore warned him for what wasn't the first time.

Harry was distracted by the bright green light up ahead of them. As he advanced towards the centre of the island, followed closely by Dumbledore, he saw that the light pooled from a stone basin, which he rather thought looked like a Pensieve. Darkness clouded all around this small source of light. Harry and Dumbledore examined the basin closely, watching the emerald, luminous liquid that filled it.

"What is it?" Harry asked quietly.

"I am not sure," Dumbledore answered. "Something more worrisome than blood and bodies, however."

Harry doubted that, somehow. He wondered whether the dead people in the waters here were the witches and wizards who had failed to find this very Horcrux... He wondered also how many more bodies would make it into these waters...

Dumbledore pulled back the sleeve of his robes, revealing more of his blackened hand, reaching for the surface of the potion.

"I cannot touch it," Dumbledore told him, smiling. "See? I cannot approach any nearer than this. You try."

Hesitating, Harry reached a hand out too. An invisible barrier prevented him from coming within an inch of the potion. No matter how hard he pushed, his fingers encountered nothing but what seemed to be solid, inflexible air.

"Out of the way, please, Harry..."

When Harry obeyed, Dumbledore began to test the basin with complicated movements, mouthing inaudible incantations. Nothing happened. Harry was only vaguely aware of Dumbledore's movements. He watched his Professor unblinkingly, wondering where Tom had gone. In Dumbledore's distraction, Harry was able to think about Snape's betrayal. The anger rooted him to the spot, causing him to clench his fists. He wondered if Dumbledore, too, had wanted to kill off James Potter out of hatred...

After a while, Dumbledore paused, straightening up and withdrawing his wand. Tom's protection fogged over Harry again. He made Harry talk.

"You think the Horcrux is in there, sir?"

"Oh, yes," said Dumbledore, peering closely at the potion. "But how to reach it? This potion cannot be penetrated by hand, Vanished, parted, scooped up, or siphoned away, nor can it be Transfigured, Charmed, or otherwise made to change its nature."

Dumbledore raised his wand and twirled it once in midair, catching a crystal goblet that he had conjured.

"I can only conclude that this potion is supposed to be drunk."

"What?" Harry repeated, shocked.

"Yes, I think so: only by drinking it can I empty the basin and see what lies in its depths."

Harry stared, bewildered. "Won't – won't it kill you?"

"Oh, I doubt that it would work like that," said Dumbledore simply. "Lord Voldemort would not want to kill the person who reached this island."

Harry was silent. Did Dumbledore's excessive forgiveness and ignorance truly lead him to believe that even Voldemort would not use a poison? Something in his expression seemed to give his thoughts away.

"I'm sorry, Harry; I should have said, he would not want to _immediately_ kill the person who reached this island. He would want to keep them alive long enough to find out how they managed to penetrate so far through his defences and, most importantly of all, why they were so intent upon emptying the basin. Do not forget that Lord Voldemort believes that he alone knows about his Horcruxes."

Harry was about to say something, but Dumbledore silenced him with a calm wave of his hand. His attention was fixed to the potion. He frowned.

"Undoubtedly," he eventually said, "this potion must act in a way that will prevent me taking the Horcrux. It might paralyse me, cause me to forget what I am here for, create so much pain I am distracted, or render me incapable in some other way. This being the case, Harry, it will be your job to make sure I keep drinking, even if you have to top the potion into my protesting mouth. You understand?"

Harry did not answer immediately. His gaze met Dumbledore's for a short second over the emerald light of the basin, but his eyes moved away instinctively at Tom's guidance. This was too easy...

"You remember," said Dumbledore, "the condition on which I brought you with me?"

Harry hesitated, staring at the green liquid. "Yes..."

"You swore, did you not, to follow any command I gave you?"

"Yes, sir," he said mechanically.

"I warned you, did I not, that there might be danger?"

"Yes..."

"Do I have your word that you will do all in your power to make me keep drinking?"

Anger played at the corners of Harry's mind. This was too easy, he knew: Dumbledore would be weakened. He trusted Harry fully – he felt that Harry wouldn't be able to go through with this. Controlling his anger for him, Tom made him answer: "Sir, could I not drink the potion in–?"

"Your word, Harry?" Dumbledore interrupted seriously.

Harry met this eyes, his mind shielded. "Of course, sir..."

Dumbledore seemed satisfied, until curiosity caught him. His blue eyes – emerald, now, as they reflected the pool of light below – fixed on Harry as if he had seen something unexpected. A shiver of fear ran through Harry's body, causing his limbs to freeze up, but the terror wasn't his own. Tom was recoiling within him, causing his heartbeat to escalate swiftly. Harry had never before seen Dumbledore an ominous as he did in Tom's eyes. He dropped his gaze.

Seemingly forgetting his suspicions, Dumbledore lowered the crystal goblet into the potion. For a split second, Harry feared he would not be able to touch the potion, but the crystal sunk unto the surface like nothing else had. When the glass was full to the brim, Dumbledore lifted it to his mouth.

"Your good health, Harry."

In one movement, the goblet was drained. Harry watched, transfixed, his mind blank, as Dumbledore lowered the empty glass a second time.

"Professor?" he asked. "How do you feel?"

Dumbledore shook his head, his eyes closed. Harry wondered whether he was in pain. He plunged the glass blindly back into the basin, refilling it and drinking it once more.

Harry's heart hammered in his chest. He barely dared to blink. Dumbledore drank the third goblet silently, but at the forth, he staggered and fell against the basin. His eyes were still closed, his breath heavy and strained.

"Professor Dumbledore?" Harry said loudly, "Can you hear me?"

Dumbledore gave no answer. His face twitched in what looked like agony. His grip on the goblet was slackening; the potion was about to spill from it. Harry reached out a hand to take the cup, holding it steady. It was too easy...

In a shuddering moment, Tom left Harry's mind. Dumbledore wasn't able read Harry's thoughts – their biggest danger was gone – but a new, more pressing matter surfaced. Harry was captured by the wrath that flooded his brain at Dumbledore's touch, even as Dumbledore cowered in pain. He had betrayed Harry... He had lied about everything...

He, perhaps, would understand the revenge Harry was going to take.

"Professor, can you hear me?" he repeated, his voice echoing around the cavern.

Dumbledore panted, before speaking in a voice Harry did not recognise, for he had never heard Dumbledore so frightened.

"I don't want... don't make me..."

Harry stared into the whitened face he knew so well, at the crooked nose and half-moon spectacles. This was the man who had lied to him all his life...

"...don't like... want to stop..."

When Harry looked up, Tom tore his gaze from Dumbledore too, his red eyes shining in mad, unblinking happiness, even if he didn't yet smile.

"You... you can't stop, Professor," said Harry. "You've got to keep drinking, remember? You told me you had to keep drinking. Here..."

Harry forced the goblet back towards Dumbledore's mouth and tipped it.

"No," Dumbledore groaned after this sip. "I don't want to..."

Harry stood up, turning back to the basin. It was so easy, so mechanical. He refilled the goblet.

"I don't want... let me go..."

"It's all right, Professor," said Harry, his hand shaking in exhilaration, "it's all right, I'm here –"

"Make it stop, make it stop..."

Tom was smiling down at Harry. He didn't need to say a word.

"Yes... yes, this'll make it stop," Harry lied, tipping the contents of the goblet into Dumbledore's open mouth.

Dumbledore screamed in agony. The noise echoed all around the vast chamber, across the dead black water.

"No, no, no... no... I can't... I can't, don't make me, I don't want to..."

Tom was grinning a mad, feverish grin. Harry couldn't help but stare in awe at his excitement, smiling back.

"It's all right, Professor, it's all right!" Harry said loudly, his hands shaking so badly he could hardly scoop up the sixth goblet full of potion; the basin was now half-empty. "Nothing's happened to you, you're safe, it isn't real, I swear it isn't real – take this, now, take this..."

Obediently, Dumbledore drank, as though it was an antidote Harry offered him, but upon draining the goblet, he sank to his knees, shaking uncontrollably.

"It's all my fault, all my fault," he sobbed. "Please make it stop, I know I did wrong, oh, please make it stop and I'll never, never again..."

"This will make it stop, Professor," Harry lied again, his voice cracking as a crazed smile spread across his face, followed Tom's. He tipped the seventh glass of potion into Dumbledore's mouth.

Dumbledore began to cower as though invisible torturers surrounded him; his flailing hand almost knocked the refilled goblet from Harry's trembling hands as he moaned, "Don't hurt them, don't hurt them, please, please, its my fault, hurt me instead..."

"Here, drink this, drink this, you'll be all right..."

Dumbledore once again obeyed Harry's words, opening his mouth even as he kept his eyes tight shut, shaking from head to foot. He fell forward when the liquid was drained, hammering his fist upon the ground, screaming. Harry filled the ninth goblet.

"Please, please, please, no... not that, not that, I'll do anything..."

"Just drink, Professor, just drink..."

Dumbledore drank like a child dying of thirst, but when he had finished, he yelled again as thought his insides were on fire.

"No more, please, no more..."

Harry scooped up a tenth gobletful of potion and felt the crystal scrape the bottom of the basin.

"We're nearly there, Professor, drink this, drink it..."

He supported Dumbledore's shoulders and again, Dumbledore drained the glass, but this time it wasn't so funny. No matter how many times Dumbledore was punished for drinking more, he trusted Harry's hand...

Harry rose to his feet once more, ignoring Tom. He refilled the goblet, while Dumbledore screamed in more anguish than ever.

"I want to die! I want to die! Make it stop, make it stop, I want to die!"

A chill ran through Harry. If this had all seemed like a joke, a dream, before, he no longer felt the same. Reality struck him strongly, holding him close.

"Drink this, Professor. Drink this..."

Dumbledore drank. No sooner had he finished, he yelled, "KILL ME!"

"This – this one will!" Harry stammered. "Just drink this... It'll be over... all over!"

Tom gave him a curious glance while Dumbledore gulped at the goblet, draining every last drop. With a great, rattling gasp, he rolled over onto his face.

Silence fell. Harry couldn't believe what he was seeing. Is this why Tom had not interfered? Had he known, before, that Dumbledore would die so simply?

"No," Harry said in a low voice, throwing the crystal goblet in the basin as he dropped down to heave Dumbledore over. His glasses were askew, his mouth agape, his eyes closed. "No, no, you're not dead, you said it wasn't poison, wake up, wake up –!"

He tried to pull Dumbledore up, shaking his shoulder.

"Sir – please –!"

Dumbledore's eyes flickered open. Harry's heart leapt as Tom stood staring, as still as a statue.

"Sir, are you –?"

"Water," Dumbledore croaked.

"Water," Harry repeated, panting, "– yes –"

He leapt to his feet and seized the goblet he had dropped in the basin; he barely registered the golden locket lying curled beneath it.

"_Aguamenti!_" he shouted, jabbing the goblet with his wand.

The goblet filled with clear water. Harry dropped to his knees besides Dumbledore, reaching out a hand to raise his head, until –

He recoiled, terrified. The goblet fell from his hand with an echoing clatter.

Dumbledore was suddenly alert, his eyes wide and staring with a mad, red hue. Blood drained from Harry's face in an instant – he backed away on the smooth stone, doing all he could to refrain from screaming. Dumbledore did nothing but stare with a very large, inhuman grin upon his face.

Tom was nowhere to be seen. Upon noticing this, Harry understood; Tom had taken control of Dumbledore's body, possessing him completely.

A surge of pain seemed to pass through Dumbledore – the first pull on his supply of magic. Harry could see Dumbledore resurface; his face expressed pain and he whimpered. Tom soon surfaced again, however, grinning madly through Dumbledore's face.

"_He's weak_," he hissed gleefully to Harry. "_He's damaged..._"

A second surge of pain passed over Dumbledore.

"No – no, n-no, make it stop..."

"Professor, don't –"

Then he was laughing, his wrinkled face alight with Tom's unnatural humour. Harry had never seen anything so horrifying in his life; Dumbledore's energy was being slowly sucked from him, but Tom made him laugh, made him smile.

"D-don't!" Dumbledore cried. "Let me go –"

A third surge washed over him – it drained any colour left in Dumbledore, causing his now sullen eyes to pop in their sockets.

"_Nothing could be simpler,_" Tom hissed through his lips, staring at Harry with Dumbledore's eyes.

Dumbledore seemed to throw him off after this. He appeared behind his eyes again, staring at Harry as he drew in deep, shuddering breaths. His fingers reached out in instinct for his wand.

"_Expelliarmus!_" Harry cried in fright.

The wand flew five feet away – too far away for Dumbledore to reach.

"Why?" the Professor panted, his shining eyes fixed on Harry. In this moment of consciousness, this small glimpse of awareness, he seemed to understand the entire situation at once.

Harry hesitated, until anger reached him again, overpowering all the fear and empathy he felt towards Dumbledore. "You – you betrayed me," he said, his voice trembling. "And Snape..."

A forth surge of pain caught Dumbledore, causing him to scream in agony. His back arched on the cold stone floor.

"No!" he shouted. "No – Harry... Snape was a foolish – foolish young man..."

A fifth surge. Tom was no longer smiling. He stared at Harry curiously through Dumbledore's eyes, before they bulged again in pain.

"Snape," Dumbledore panted, his voice strained and hoarse, "regretted his choice deeply... Snape did not – could not – know the chosen parents were yours..."

"You're lying," Harry said bitterly, sure of it. His voice was shaking, as was his hand, which gripped his wand tightly. It would take nothing to kill Dumbledore now...

"You do not know – know what our war was like... you could not... understand, Harry... not yet... not–"

"What's that got to to with it?" Harry demanded.

"Voldemort chose... chose you..."

"Yeah, well, you want me as dead as he does. Snape wants me dead too – you're betraying me like you both betrayed my parents!"

Fury captured Harry, causing his face to twist into a look of rage. He clenched his wand, staring down at Dumbledore. He barely registered it when large tears began leaking from the Dumbledore's wrinkled eyes. It would be so easy to end all of this...

Tom sapped the energy from Dumbledore again. He did not cry out this time; he accepted it without restraint. Harry stared with held breath. He didn't dare approach Dumbledore, who lay weak, defeated.

Harry watched Dumbledore's rising and falling chest. Rising... falling... rising... He didn't know what to do. He was somewhere between horrified and furious – he wished he could go back to finding humour in this. He wanted revenge...

Tom appeared, as clear as any other human would be. Upon seeing him standing proudly in this silent cave, Harry tore his eyes from Dumbledore. He could still hear Dumbledore's breath falling... rising... falling... rising...

"_You must kill him, now,_" Tom told him softly, his hisses echoing throughout the cave. "_End his life and seek your revenge..._"

Harry was transfixed to Tom's handsome face. He breathed in heavy breaths of thick, humid cave air. It smelt like decaying bodies. Tom's eyes were emerald green in this light, making him look like a more handsome, darker, taller Harry.

"_We cannot live if he lives,_" Tom told him. "_We must protect ourselves from threats like him..._"

"_How do I do it?_"

"Harry," Dumbledore whispered, "you c-cannot despair..."

His eyes were shining. Larger tears leaked from his eyes as he spoke. Harry did nothing. He felt nothing but hatred, even when Dumbledore's body shook terrible in this dark cave, his whispers echoing all around. Did Dumbledore, perhaps, understand who Harry was talking to?

"_A simple curse,_" Tom told him. "_You know the spell, Harry..._"

Harry's eyes fixed on Dumbledore's. Only with Tom could he be safe. Only with Tom could he find honesty and truth. There was nothing else for him. Dumbledore was going to leave him to die at Voldemort's hand, but Tom would not allow this. If Harry only followed his instructions... He tightened his grip on his wand, pointing it to Dumbledore.

Dumbledore understood what was happening. His breath slowed, his eyes closed, as he accepted what was to come. "I... was a fool..."

Harry said nothing. He breathed in and out quickly, rage warping his expression.

"Harry," Dumbledore whispered, the shine of his eyes disappearing behind wrinkled lids, "forgive me..."

Feeling suddenly much older, Harry drew in a deep breath. The deadly words escaped his lips easily, to seek revenge, to end this misery. "_Avada Kedavra!_"

There was a flash of green light – so powerful that it was all Harry could see. Dumbledore did not cry out when the spell struck him. No noise echoed through the chamber, except the sound of Dumbledore's body when it crashing to the ground several feet away. When Harry's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw that Dumbledore's limbs were at an awkward angle, his hand dipped into the black lake.

Harry knew he was dead. He had certainly meant to kill him. It was too easy, too laughably simple. There was nothing left for him to do... He felt empty, to say the least. His anger had dissolved. He didn't look up at Tom, even when his footsteps began to echo through the cave.

"See how easy it is?" Tom asked him, smiling softly. "The greatest wizard of the century, dead. How great we can become, together..."

Harry said nothing. He was tempted to leave, when movement caught his eye. He thought, for a horrid moment, that Dumbledore was living, but he was mistaken. Dumbledore was being tugged jerkily into the water by a whitened, bony hand. Harry stared, too overwhelmed to take in the horror unravelling before his eyes.

The Inferius grasping Dumbledore's wrist rose up from the water, its deadened face staring with milky eyes. It was draped in soaking, ragged clothes, its hands slipping and clutching at Dumbledore's flesh. Harry might have been fearful of the Inferius attacking him, if it weren't for the knowledge that the Inferi in this lake only expected one wizard to make it to this island.

There was no violence as the Inferius tugged Dumbledore further, causing his white hair to dip slowly into the black water. Even as other Inferi began to rise from the water, clutching Dumbledore's feet, beard, legs, and shoulders, they were not too eager: they knew Dumbledore was dead. Harry stayed very still, hearing Tom slow to a stop.

They watched as the tips of Dumbledore's boots slid into the lake. The water rippled with the movements of the last Inferi, before it slowed to a deadly stillness once more.

All that remained on this small island was the Locket and the Wand. As if this was obvious to both of them simultaneously, Harry advanced towards the Locket in the basin while Tom bent down to retrieve Dumbledore's wand.

Smiling is satisfaction, Tom twirled the wand in his hand.

"What better wand to use upon gaining my new body than the wand of my greatest enemy?"

Harry might not have heard him. His fingers traced the surface of the Locket. It seemed like such an odd thing, that so much had happened for the sake of this Horcrux... Without saying a word about it, he slipped the Locket into his pocket, turning back to Tom.

He was surprised by the mischievous, desirous smile on Tom's face. It made him pause. In this terrifying, seemingly endless cave, Tom took slow steps forwards, his eyes never leaving Harry's.

"You did well tonight," he said softly. "Better than I could ever dream..."

Harry was captivated by the look in his eyes. When Tom came closer still, reaching out for Harry's hand, his mind was spinning.

"We can do great things with the power we've gained, the power we share," Tom told him delicately. "Many great things... would you like to see some of it?"

He grasped Harry's hand at the question. Harry could do nothing but stare numbly at Tom, disoriented by the knowledge that he had killed Dumbledore after finding a Horcrux, only to have Tom stand here as real as anyone...

Tom gave a hum of laughter at his lack of answer. He learnt in, pressing his lips gently against Harry's.

"_The cost of a single, dying wizard's life can get you all of this,_" Tom hissed, kissing him again.

This time, Harry responded, fuelled by desire. Tom was not reluctant to kiss him deeper, smiling. He reached for Harry's neck gently, pulling him closer. Harry's heart was pounding in his chest. He reached out a band to grasp Tom's waist –

But he found nothing there. He pulled away from the kiss. Tom's red eyes stared into his green ones for only a second, before he learnt in to catch Harry's jawline, then his neck, with his soft lips, breathing against him. Harry was solely disappointed. Tom was not yet real, this was just a stronger, more convincing illusion...

Tom noticed his disinterest quickly. His unblinking eyes watched Harry closely.

"Do you not like this?" he asked.

Harry shook his head, unsure what to say, at first. His head was still spinning. "This isn't real..."

Tom stepped away from him slowly, letting his hand slip from Harry's shoulder. Harry didn't understand. It felt too convincing...

"Shall we go?" Tom asked, perhaps seeing his distressed.

Harry glanced at the boat slowly. "Won't the Inferi attack us?"

"No," Tom assured him. "They may be violent when provoked, but they bear no intelligence. They will think we are meant to be here."

Harry decided to trust his word without question. This, however, wasn't his biggest concern.

"Where are we going now?" he asked, feeling disorientated.

"To Hogwarts," Tom told him softly.

"To – why?"

"Why not? You have not finished with the school, entirely. You have left all of your belongings there."

"What does that matter?" Harry asked. "Compared to getting caught by the Order, that's –"

"Getting caught by the Order?" Tom repeated softly. "For what?"

Harry opened his mouth to say the obvious – 'for killing Dumbledore' – but he realised where this logic failed.

"No one will know," Tom reminded him. "Not a single student or teacher knows where you went tonight..."

Harry stared at him blankly. Slowly, he began to see the full logic of this. "I could lie about anything... I could say Dumbledore just left, that he's still alive – they won't be able to confirm where he went."

"Yes," Tom agree, grinning, "and with his magic shared between you and I, we will be perfectly protected. I can stay with you like this, undetected by anyone. I can fight alongside you..."

Harry shivered in this cold, endless cave. He looked in the direction of the entrance of the cave. There was no way of seeing the shore they had arrived at, but surely they could find they way back...

"Let's go, then..."

He clambered into the little boat, feeling Tom join his body for convenience.

The intensity of Tom's return shocked Harry – not because he wasn't used to it, but because he hadn't expected the rush of exhilaration and the mass of magic power flooding through his veins, fuelling some addiction he had never previously known. Harry shuddered, his eyes going blind momentarily, staggering him where he stood.

"_Tom_," he hissed, before he could help himself.

Tom was adjusting to this new change, causing Harry's eyes to close. He had nearly fallen out of the boat. Breathing heavily, Harry steadied his balance, feeling Tom's presence strongly.

Despite Dumbledore's added magic, they were not interrupted on their way across the lake. The Inferi, clearly satisfied with their capture, were calm. Even as Harry left the boat, being sure to not touch the water, he was met with no problems. Tom appeared shortly after Harry stood upon land. Silently, they made their way to the exit of the cave.

Anxiety captivated Harry. Tom perhaps sense this, because he was silent until it became so overpowering that Harry had to say something.

"Can't we just – I dunno – leave this place for somewhere new?" he asked. "Why return to Hogwarts now? It's over... I don't care about my belongings. I don't want to go back to the Order. I just want to run..."

"Nothing will prove your guilt as strongly as that," Tom told him. "We must remain calm. If you were to disappear, the Ministry would search for you immediately. With them, as well as the Order of the Phoenix and the Death Eaters chasing after you, we wouldn't stand a chance. Not while we're so unprepared."

Harry understood this easily, but it barely made him feel better at all. At the very least, he hoped Tom would protect him if all else went wrong. He stepped forth silently, until the tips of his shoes met the salty waves that curled in this underground cavern.

"Take this," Tom said, pausing before the sea water that ebbed the staircase of the entrance hall. He passed Harry Dumbledore's wand.

Harry was alarmed, momentarily, that Tom could pass him this item as casually as any human. He was about to comment on it, before Tom disappeared entirely. He returned to Harry, bringing the second half of Dumbledore's magic energy back to him.

Not saying a thing, Harry walked forwards, oblivious to the freezing temperature of the water that rose up to his knees, his hips, his waist, his chest...

When he was out of the Cave, he hastily clambered out of the water, onto the nearest stretch of rock. He shook from head to foot in the freezing gusts of salty wind, but soon dried himself off the best he could with magic. In the moonlight, with Tom still secured within him, he closed his eyes and concentrated hard on an image of Hogsmeade. With as much determination as he could muster, he attempted Apparition.

There were no longer harsh winds brushing against his damp robes or the stench of salt smothering his nose; all that surrounded him was the soft sound of summer breeze. His Apparition had worked. When he opened his eyes, he saw that the streets of Hogsmeade were deserted. He wondered how late it was; he had no idea how much time had passed since he was last here. It felt like a long time ago. It was the dead of night.

Once he caught his breath again, Harry thought quickly about what he would do now.

"_We need a way into Hogwarts,_" he hissed.

Tom appeared out of nowhere at these words. He appeared calm, unbothered.

"_Without Dumbledore,_" Harry carried on, "_I don't know how we'll get back. We didn't think of __this..._"

"_Will the school's security not be compromised?_" Tom inquired curiously, using Parseltongue too, lest they should be overheard. "_If not as a result of Dumbledore's death, then as a result of the Death Eaters roaming the school walls, as they surely are?_"

"_Maybe,_" Harry mumbled, unsure. _"It depends on if Snape's around... if he's with the Death Eaters right now..._"

"_We should investigate the security._"

Harry nodded once, reaching for his Invisibility Cloak. He was sure, suddenly, that Snape had compromised the security of the entire school. They would find a way in, for sure. Harry could find a way to Snape... The thought distracted him so much that he almost failed to hear running footsteps heading towards him.

In shock, Harry reached for his wand. He was about to throw a curse at the person nearing him, but he recognised who it was: Madame Rosmerta.

"I saw you Apparate as I was pulling my bedroom curtains!" she said breathlessly. "Thank goodness, thank goodness, I couldn't think what to – but where's Albus?"

She came to a halt, panting, and stared at Harry.

"He – he needed to stay out longer," Harry lied lamely, equally as confused; why was she here, when she hadn't seen Harry leave the school with Dumbledore? He had been under the Invisibility Cloak, before... "I, er, need to get back to the school -"

"You can't go up there alone! Don't you realise – haven't you seen –?"

"What's wrong?"

She stared at him in terror, soon turning her attention in the direction of Hogwarts. Even before following her gaze, Harry could see luminous green light reflected in her eyes.

"The – the Dark Mark," she whispered.

Sure enough, when he turned to face Hogwarts, emerald stars created the skull and snake constellation that witches and wizards had feared for decades. Despite the hypocrisy, Harry was filled with dread when he realised that someone had died at Hogwarts tonight at the hands of the Death Eaters...

"_We shall have easy access to the school, now,_" Tom hissed quietly, close to Harry. "_We merely need a form of transportation..._"

These words broke Harry out of his fixation with the Dark Mark. He turned to Madame Rosmerta.

"I need to get to Hogwarts," he told her seriously. "Right now – do you have a way there? A beast, a broom, a passageway –?"

"I've got a couple brooms behind the bar," she said, looking pale. "Shall I run and fetch –?"

"_Accio Rosmerta's broom._"

Almost as soon as the words left his lips, there was a bang and the front door of the pub burst open. A common broom shot out into the street and raced to Harry's side, where it stopped dead, quivering slightly, at waist length.

"Thanks," Harry said in a low voice, feeling Tom return to him.

"You can't go there alone!" she said again, looking guilt-ridden and terrified. "If –"

With a hard kick to the ground, Harry zoomed away from her without hearing a single word more. He rushed through the warm summer air, rising higher and higher, leaning close to his broom. It was a minute before reaching the school's perimeter when Harry felt Tom controlling him, causing him to take out his wand. Seeing no reason to object, Harry felt Tom use magic through him, mumbling strange incantations with his lips.

Nothing seemed to change. If Tom had succeeded in breaking down the spells and enchantments that protected Hogwarts, there was no sign of it, except Harry was able to speed quickly towards the Astronomy Tower. When he laded, looking around for a sign of a struggle, he found no one else was here. He was breathing heavily, trying to work out what had happened.

"Do you think they're gone?" Harry asked the empty tower. "The Death Eaters, I mean."

Tom appeared once more. Yet again, he was calm, but a serious expression crossed his face. "We cannot be sure..."

Harry looked around, feeling disoriented at the sight of the deserted tower. He looked up at the looming Dark Mark, then turned his gaze to the door.

"We should go inside – maybe someone downstairs will know what happened. They'll know who was killed..."

All Harry could hear was the blood pounding in his ears and the echos of his own rushed footsteps as he headed for the door. Before he could so much as touch the iron ring of it, however, he heard running footsteps on the other side. He backed up hastily, withdrawing his wand, but no sooner could he anticipate who was coming his way, the door bust open.

"_Expelliarmus!_"

The spell missed Harry, but nevertheless there was a clattering sound. When Harry looked around, he could see Tom, who had slipped Dumbledore's wand out of Harry's pocket. Harry thought Draco might have heard the floating wand drop, but if he did, he didn't pay any attention to it. He stood in the doorway, breathing heavily, staring at Harry with a look of terror and wrath. Both of their wands were pointed to the other's throat from afar.

"Where is he?" Draco demanded at once. His voice was shaking.

Harry said nothing. His heart felt like it was about to pour out of his mouth. There must be more Death Eaters below...

"Answer me!"

"Where's who?" Harry asked, stalling for time.

"Don't play that!" Draco spat, his eyes alight in the green hue above them. "I heard voices!"

"Something that's happened a lot, lately?" Harry joked coolly.

Draco rose his wand higher, bearing his teeth. Tom stood beside Harry, so interested in the conversation that he ignored his fallen wand for now.

"Where is he?" Draco demanded again, louder this time.

"I don't know what you're talking ab-"

"I know Dumbledore left the school with you!"

"How do you – ?"

"I'm not a fool! I've had spies watching Dumbledore... I've been waiting for this..."

There was a terrified look in Draco's eyes, as much as he tried to act brave. Harry's mind raced to think what he could mean. Had he and Dumbledore been followed? Who could have spotted them on their way out of the school? Until Harry remembered -

"Madame Rosmerta..."

"Worked it out at last, have you?"

"Is she a Death Eater?" Harry asked. "Has she been spying for you?"

"There are more, better ways to get somebody to do as you like," Draco said in a low, shaking voice, his face twisted into a look of false control. "Not that you'd know about our kind of magic..."

Harry pointedly ignored the irony. Despite Draco's powerful claims, there was no heart behind his words. He might, Harry thought, even be relieved that Dumbledore wasn't here tonight.

"The Imperius Curse isn't advanced magic," Harry commented, attempting to annoy and distract Draco. "Even if you managed to curse Katie Bell, poison Ron, and spy on Dumbledore..."

Draco's eyes stopped scanning the dark tower for sign of another person. He failed to see Tom. He looked angry.

"I've done better than anyone," he spat. "They thought I'd die in the attempt, but I'm here... I've finished my first job and now – now they're all here... now all that stands in my way to Dumbledore is you..."

Harry neither dropped his gaze nor showed any sigh of fear. "Seems like you're out of luck, then, doesn't it? Dumbledore's not here."

"Where is he?"

"I told you, I don't kn-"

They heard a loud bang and a horrid shout from downstairs. The both of them froze in terror, momentarily forgetting their rivalry.

"Who's been killed?" Harry asked, fuelled by deep concern – again despite the hypocrisy. Tom glanced at him furtively.

Draco did not answer at once. He seemed transfixed by the shouts and cries carrying up from below.

"I didn't see a face," he mumbled. "It was dark. I stepped over a body in my way up here..."

Tom appeared attentive at this, but Harry didn't ask any further questions. The body can't have been Ron's or Hermione's – surely the Lucky Potion can't have run out... Whatever had happened, there was no time to ask about it. There was another, louder, bang from downstairs. It startled Draco, making him speak.

"I have a job to do," he said through gritted teeth, his tightly clenched fist shaking around his wand. He was angry for the first time, fuelled by panic. "Tell me where Dumbledore is!"

"Didn't Madame Rosmerta tell you?" Harry asked. "He didn't show up at Hogsmeade."

"There's no way out of this, Potter! You won't make it out of this tower... neither of us will..."

"Then why do this?" Harry asked in a low voice. "It's over, Malfoy. Dumbledore's not here and you can't kill him."

"You're lying – where is he?"

The terror in his voice inspired Harry for the first time. He realised how easy it would be to manipulate Draco. He thought about what would scare him the most, fuelled by sudden thrill.

"Dumbledore was always one step ahead of you, Malfoy. Didn't you know? Even the Death Eaters admit he's a great wizard – there was no way you could have tricked him, even if you managed to mend that cupboard in the Room of Requirement. He always knew..."

Draco's eyes were huge. His hand was shaking violently, his face contorted into a look of nausea.

"In case you hadn't noticed, Dumbledore didn't return to Hogwarts with me. There's nothing you can do to kill him tonight, Malfoy, and Voldemort isn't going to be pleased about that."

Draco shuddered at the name, his limbs shaking violently now. He couldn't hold his wand straight. Harry stared at him bravely, wanting to break him, to go downstairs to where the battle was continuing.

"What's Voldemort going to do, Malfoy?" he asked. "Kill you? You'd find better protection in the Order by now. The Death Eaters might kill you as soon as you go back; you've failed all of them too."

"It isn't – isn't me I'm concerned about!" Draco croaked. His eyes were shining under and his untidy blond hair.

Harry watched him, captivated, unable to move. Draco's wand lowered considerably; he understood he had lost.

"My mother," he said in a hoarse whisper. "My- my family..."

Harry didn't say a word. Tom was moving calmly besides him, reaching for Dumbledore's wand.

"He's g-going to kill my family," Draco rasped, his eyes fixed on Harry's. "It isn't fair! Y-you don't know what he's like – you don't know what I've done for this, I –"

He seemed close to spilling everything to Harry, until something caught his eye. Tom, believing he was safe under Draco's distracting sentiment, had picked up Dumbledore's wand. He stood holding the wand securely, preparing for the fight that would doubtlessly take place as soon as the Death Eaters made their way up here. Draco could see nothing but a floating wand. In terror, he panicked.

"_CRUCIO!_"

The spell missed; Tom threw up a shielding charm. Draco panicked more than ever, turning to sprint towards the stairs. Harry, acting on impulse, followed him at once, throwing the Invisibility Cloak over his shoulders.

"_Wait!_"

Harry didn't listen to Tom. He heard Tom's ghostly footsteps behind him as he sped down the staircase, his eyes fixed on Malfoy's blond head. He wanted to grab Draco's collar, to keep him from being seen by the Death Eaters, but there was no hope; he disappeared into the battle as soon as they reached the base of the stairs, entering a dusty, shadowy corridor.

There was no way to tell which dark silhouettes were friends and which were foes – before Harry remembered, with a pang of regret, that both the Death Eaters and the Order members had betrayed him. The light of spells flashed across the scene over and over again, showing Harry that half the ceiling seemed to have fallen in. He heard voices roaring in fury and fear, but as hard as he tried to distinguish who was who, it was impossible.

"_Expulso!_" Tom shouted beside Harry. "_Secareileum!_"

"_What are you doing?_" Harry hissed. "_We need to find Malfoy – and Snape!_"

"_Why not eliminate a few Death Eaters while we can?_" Tom asked him coolly, a cruel smile etched into his face. "_Is it not the perfect opportunity?_"

Harry didn't have time to disagree. He ducked as a jet of green light headed for him; Death Eaters were close by, screaming in rage and firing Killing Curse after Killing Curse at the DA and Order members who opposed them.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" a hooded man shouted close by.

"_Crucio!_" cried another.

Neither of their spells were having any success. Professor McGonagall stood close to Harry, defending the entrance to the Tower. Whips of yellow light surrounded her beyond the Shielding Charms that she used to protect the students around her.

"_Petrificus Totalus!_" Ron's voice cried shakily behind her, his spell almost hitting a cackling wizard who had been distracted moments before.

The wizard turned to him at once, raising his wand.

"_Avada Kedav–_"

"_Stupefy!_" cried Harry.

The spell hit the wizard squarely in the chest. Harry leapt forwards, straight into the battle, passing McGonagall's protection.

"Amycus, no!" an unknown witch cried in horror.

The cursed wizard slammed into another large man who turned at once. Harry caught a stench of dirt and blood as he passed – both of which the man was covered in. He grimaced, revealing that his teeth were covered in red liquid, his dark eyes searching for who had knocked out Amycus Carrow.

The witch who had called out for Amycus was firing spells wildly. All those around her were ducking and blocking her attacks, some of them pulling away from other battles. Harry could see a body under the blood-stained man – without a wand, the man was attacking his victim viciously.

"Bill!" Ron began shouting. "_Bill!_"

Ron sprang forwards, passing Tom, his eyes wide.

"_Protego!_" Harry shouted, blocking several Killing Curses the witch threw his way.

Ron looked around, his eyes wide. "Harry?"

"Fight him!" Harry shouted through the cloak, not caring who heard him. "Don't just stand there!"

Dumbfound, Ron obeyed, turning to Bill's attacker. "_Impedimenta!_"

Harry left him to tackle the man on his own. Professor McGonagall had taken it upon herself to fight the crazed witch from before; there were several bodies surrounding the Professor, which Harry knew had to be the result of her preceding fights.

Harry didn't try to help her, even as Neville flew past him, his body crashing to the ground. He had spotted Draco running down the corridor far ahead, his blond hair illuminated in the light of a passing Killing Curse.

"_Reducto!_" cried Hermione, her bushy hair flying past as Harry ran. "_Impedimenta!_"

Draco had disappeared around a corner. Harry sprinted through the fight, ignoring it as Tom hissed "_Avada Kedavra!_" to the Death Eaters as they ran. He reached the corner Draco had disappeared around and sped down the corridor. He drew to a stoop, looking for Tom.

Three Death Eaters were charging down the corridor. Harry leapt aside as they advanced towards him, their eyes scanning the many pathways before them.

"Spread out!" a blond man cried in a rough voice, bolting in the wrong direction after Draco. "He's gotta be around here somewhere!"

Harry slipped past the two standing Death Eaters, intent upon finding Draco before they did.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" Tom shouted after the blond man.

The spell missed. He turned, enraged. "Who did that? I'll find you!"

"_Run!_" Harry hissed.

Tom followed him at once. They raced down the right corridor, until they hit the Entrance Hall. Harry's feet were soaked in blood; he slipped on the marble staircase as he scurried down it, seeing the hem of Draco's cloak escape around the oak front doors.

When Harry reached the doors too, Draco was nowhere to be seen. He stood, staring out at the grounds, Tom close to this shoulders.

"_There!_" Tom hissed.

In the darkness, with his wand outstretched, Draco was turning this way and that, clearly lost for where to go. He couldn't join the Death Eaters now; if they didn't know already, they'd soon find out that Dumbledore wasn't dead by his hand. By running, Draco had proved his own guilt to them.

Draco was panicking. His breath tore at his lungs and his terrified eyes looked from the moonlit forbidden forest to the oak front doors to the distant exit of Hogwarts grounds. Harry soon approached him. He could hear echoing shouts from the Entrance Hall. The Death Eaters were near.

Without calling for his attention, or giving any kind of warning, Harry jumped on Draco, throwing the Invisibility Cloak over him. Draco screamed in terror.

"Shut up!" Harry hissed, panicked now. "Malfoy – don't – _Petrificus Totalus!_"

Draco froze up at once. He slipped from Harry's grasp, falling to the ground.

Harry knelt down with him quickly, throwing the Invisibility Cloak over the both of them. He looked up at Tom, about to ask for help, but Tom was distracted. His red eyes were fixed on the entrance of the school.

A dark figure was standing at the oak front doors, its silhouette breaking the slither of golden light that fell across the dark grounds. Blood was pounding in Harry's ears, his breath ripping at his dry throat. The Death Eater was taking slow, cautious steps towards them. Harry rose his wand to Draco at once, taking off his enchantments.

When Draco was able to move, he scrambled up at once, crouching with Harry. Forgetting his hate for the second time tonight, Draco stared at the moving Death Eater, his hands shaking violently.

"Come out, come out, Draco!" a witch's voice cried. "You can't run from the Death Eaters. You can't run from our Lord!"

Harry grabbed Draco's elbow, pulling him back. Although a soft wind blew past Hogwarts castle, Alecto Carrow seemed to see where the grass moved below them. She advanced, her piggish eyes full of eager greed. She knew she would be rewarded if she brought Draco back to Voldemort.

"Come and talk to me!" she asked of him, smiling wickedly. "We can sort this out! Dumbledore may not be dead yet, but we will find him! We will seek him out!"

Draco was petrified. All he could do was stare at the approaching witch, following Harry blindly as they stepped back. He almost stumbled over his own feet many times, his breath uneven and strained. Alecto was close.

"Show yourself, boy, or I'll make you!"

Draco's eyes snapped, suddenly, to the wand floating besides them, in Tom's hand. Harry was sure that Draco thought it was someone else under an Invisibility Cloak.

"Come now, Draco! I'm losing patience! Stepped forwards now or I'll – _AH!_"

There was an eruption of blinding light – a whip of fire hit Alecto in a swift movement, causing her to scream in terror, her defensive spell barely fighting the flames.

"Dumbledore?" she inquired breathlessly, her eyes wide. "Reveal yourself! _Avada Kedavra!_"

The spell missed Tom easily. Without so much as flinching, Tom waved his wand once more. With a sound like thunder, white slashes of light stained the air, hitting Alecto once, and again, and again. She fell to the ground, defeated.

Draco raised his wand. Seeing where his attention turned, Harry pulled at his right arm at once.

"It's not Dumbledore!"

Tom looked back, his red eyes meeting Harry's, even through the Cloak.

In rage, Draco tried to pull his hand away. He was in hysterics, Harry suddenly realised. There was no real blaming him – more Death Eaters were shouting inside Hogwarts.

"_Silencio!_"

Tom's spell worked at once. Draco became aware of the Death Eaters nearing the castle entrance only when his voice ceased.

"This way!" whispered Harry, pulling on his arm.

He followed, apparently not knowing what else to do. At least five Death Eaters were visible now, oblivious to Harry and Draco's footsteps.

"What happened?" a man cried, sounding desperate. "_Alecto!_ Is she dead?"

"She's breathing," another pointed out roughly. "Lift her up, if you want to keep her that way."

Following the suggestion, Amycus levitated his sister. A few Death Eaters were slipping out of the school past him.

"Come on!" one cried. "There's nothing here for us!"

There were shouts coming from the Entrance Hall and flashes of bright light. A few spells hit the door, thudding loudly, causing the Death Eaters to duck.

"Now!"

They ran from the castle just as Remus Lupin emerged at the oak from doors. He threw a shower of spells after them, hurtling across the dark grounds. Tonks appeared soon, speeding along just the same, her spells illuminating the darkness around her and Lupin.

Students were peering out of the oak front doors, gathering in the Entrance Hall. Terror, apparently, had spread quickly throughout the school. Harry was distracted for a moment, fearing more Death Eaters might be in the castle, ready to attack anyone, but McGonagall passed by, followed by Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna, and Flitwick.

Harry pulled the Invisibility Cloak off, wanting to go talk to the Order members about what had happened. Draco looked distressed and bothered by the sudden change, as if this Cloak secured him not only from the eyes of his enemies, but from the crucial decision he had been faced with tonight.

"Are you coming?" Harry asked, looking back at Draco after a few steps.

He didn't answer at once. He was still shaking violently, apparently unable to make up his mind about what was happening, nevermind speak about it. He was embarrassed to show such emotion in from of Harry.

"What for?" he asked. "Too many students are up there already, asking questions..."

Anxiously, he looked over to where the floating wand had been, but Tom had moved to stand beside Harry. He slipped Dumbledore's wand into his left hand silently.

"We should go talk to McGonagall," Harry said, slipping Dumbledore's wand up his left sleeve without catching Draco's attention. "We need to sort things out – to figure out what's happened tonight..."

After a long hesitation, Draco nodded curtly. He walked towards Harry with his eyes dropped, his movements stiff and uncomfortable. He was clearly nervous to go anywhere near his Professors after what had happened tonight – or all year, for that matter.

In the Entrance Hall, students were being ushered in the direction of their Common Rooms by Professor Professor Sprout, Flitwick, Hagrid, and Slughorn. Where was Snape, Harry wondered? Had he died in the fight, or fled with the other Death Eaters? There was no way of knowing. Harry wished he had found Snape on his own. Anger curled his hands into fists, making him desire a fight...

He scanned the room for people he knew in the nearby crowds, but there were no Weasleys in sight and although he thought he saw Hermione's bushy brown hair disappearing down a nearby corridor, he saw no use in calling after her. Luna, Neville, Ginny, and the Order members were nowhere in sight. Harry wondered, with a sickening sensation, whether they were all in the hospital wing.

Professor McGonagall was giving orders to the students and teachers around her, clearly fulfilling her duties as deputy head. She had fought strongly tonight and Harry's admiration for her wasn't tainted by dislike – only uncertainty and guilt.

"Professor?"

"...take Macmillan up to Madame Pomfrey, it won't do to keep him around in these circumstances. As for the damage done to the castle walls –"

"Professor McGonagall?" Harry asked a little louder.

She heard Harry this time, turning to face him with a serious look. Her eyebrows rose upon recognising him.

"Potter!" she exclaimed, astounded, "Where have you been?"

"I – I was with Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore?" she repeated. "Where –?"

Her words were cut short when Draco appeared from behind Harry. In a second, she seemed to understand the situation. Under her stern gaze, Draco's face reddened and he averted his gaze, faking a look of annoyance in case the other students were watching.

"Follow me," she said, "both of you..."

Without a word, Harry, Draco, and Tom followed the Professor up the marble staircase. Within a few short minutes, it became apparent that she wasn't going to her office, but to the Headmaster's Office instead. She gave the password to the lone gargoyle and they climbed the spiral staircase. If she had expected Dumbledore to be up there, waiting for them, she didn't show her disappointment.

She indicated a chair for Draco to sit, conjuring a second one for Harry. She then stood by Dumbledore's chair, looking down at the two of them. Her questions started at once. She stayed businesslike about the whole situation, but Draco wasn't as able to stay calm and collected when he was forced to repeat his version of what had happened, how he had let the Death Eaters in the school, how he was following Voldemort's orders, and how his mother and fathers' lives were in danger.

As soon as he admitted to his crimes, McGonagall stood up straighter, her eyes widening. Her alarm broke Draco immediately – he pleaded for his mother to be protected by the Order, his terror causing the hair on Harry's arms to stand up. He didn't know why he felt alarmed for Draco's mother. He had never seen Malfoy cry like this.

McGonagall raised her wand, producing a Patronus Charm than would send a message to a few Order members. She assured Draco that they'd do everything they could to protect his mother before the Death Eaters got to her first. Draco barely gave a response to this. He stared out of Dumbledore's office windows, clearly avoiding Harry's eyes.

When McGonagall turned to Harry, she asked him where he had gone with Dumbledore tonight. He told her it was confidential even before Tom looked alarmed. She asked him a few more times, saying she needed a clear picture on the situation to know how to react, but still Harry refused to tell her – he lied that it was Dumbledore's orders and that not even she could know about it.

When she began to get annoyed at his, saying the Ministry of Magic had been called to Hogwarts in relation to the Death Eater attacks tonight, Harry still refused to say a word about what happened. He sat staring at the desk in front of him, unable to believe the truth himself. McGonagall eventually gave up trying to gain information from him – she perhaps thought it was Draco, of all things, that stopped Harry from telling the truth.

"If the Headmaster is unable to protect Hogwarts in these dire times, I fear I must take over the school until he makes his return known. Malfoy, you will need to be protected... We will secure the school, blocking off the passage way in Room of Requirement too, but I cannot safely say this will be enough to keep you from the grasp of Voldemort or his Death Eaters."

"So... what do we do?" Harry asked, understanding Draco wouldn't talk.

"When the school year ends in a few weeks' time, I expect you – both of you – to join the Order for the summer, to stay under our protection until further arrangements can be made."

Still, Draco didn't say a word. Another thought bothered Harry.

"Dumbledore said I was supposed to return to the Dursleys one last time," he said slowly. "Do I still have to?"

"It depends entirely on the headmaster's wishes, when he returns," McGonagall told him simply. "It depends, too, on whether or not Dumbledore will want the school year to end early. With the terrible events of tonight, I should be surprised if half the school doesn't leave by the end of the week..."

Harry was relieved, secretly, that things were working out like this. He wasn't the only one that felt this way, either; Tom's eyes were alight with happiness. He watched Harry closely, waiting impatiently for this meeting to be over. Slughorn showed up at the office a few minutes later while other Order members – Kingsley Shacklebolt, Lupin, Tonks – were surely on their way to Narcissa Malfoy. Slughorn informed McGonagall that the Minister for Magic was here and that she would have to speak to him at once if Dumbledore still hadn't returned.

Draco left the office without a word, annoyed at Slughorn when he tried to comfort him. Harry stood up soon after, but allowed Draco to go on. Slughorn, luckily, had to leave Harry to bring the Minister up to the Headmaster's Office. Harry was left alone with Tom. Down a deserted corridor a few minutes away, they spoke.

"_This is perfect,_" Tom hissed softly, his eyes shining in delight. "_Dumbledore dead... our strength returned..._"

"_The Order will know I'm the last one who saw Dumbledore,_" Harry mused in Parseltongue too, the weight of his claims pulling him into a state of depression and paranoia. "_What if they don't stop bothering me about it?_"

"_Then you'll say it's confidential, repeating these half-truths until we can escape the Order. It will take weeks, at the very least, for the Order to accept that Dumbledore is unreachable. Wherever they go from there, it will never cease to be a slow reaction._"

"_Won't that weaken the Order? If we need their protection..._"

"_Minerva McGonagall is not a talentless witch,_" Tom reminded him. "_Neither are the other witches and wizards who form the crooked league that feign an interest in your well-being. They rival the skill and power of Voldemort's own followers, remember. They will take Dumbledore's absence as a sign to double your protection, being none the wiser..._"

Harry could see no objection. Only one thing troubled him. "_What do we do, once we're under their protection?_"

"_We take advantage of their power,_" Tom said,"_as well as their trust. We will be safe from Voldemort, giving us time to formulate a plan. We will gather more information on the Order of the Phoenix, discovering their knowledge of the Death Eaters too. Nobody will see it coming..._"


	15. The Burrow

_Dear readers_, Here's a slightly rushed but otherwise suitably long chapter!

I'd like to take a moment to apologise for neglecting this story as of late. I've been very, very interested in writing the end of 'Their Verdict of Vagaries' that I've become distracted from 'A Soulless Solace' a little bit. I'm also working on a few other small projects at the moment, but I definitely won't cease writing this fic for any reason. Once I start a project, I rarely give it up – which can be both a very good and very tedious thing. To keep things simple, I promise this story will be updated whenever it's possible.

Thank you all. x _-Angstier_

* * *

15 – The Burrow

The boy's dormitory was blissfully empty. Harry glanced at the thin, clear windows around him and caught sight of the sun setting fast in a whirl of bright colour. Shades of crimson and gold darkened smoothly into black, ending the day with an air of triumph and courage that couldn't have been less fitting for Harry's state of mind. He ignored the sight, but listened nevertheless to the troubled winds that howled and pressed against the castle walls as he packed his trunk.

It was around eight O'clock in the evening and he was taking full advantage of the few minutes of solitude he could grasp from Ron and Hermione. Almost every Gryffindor was crammed into the Common Room downstairs, talking anxiously and curiously about the recent events of the school. Three days had passed since the Death Eaters attacked Hogwarts, but rumours, stories, theories, and myths continued to spring up at each passing hour. The students were terrified and looking for answers. They weren't the only ones, either.

McGonagall, the Ministry, and the entire Order of the Phoenix was still awaiting Dumbledore's return with growing impatience, desperation, and uneasiness. There were complaints about Dumbledore's absence, his incompetence, and the disorganised state he had left his school in. Most parents and students were furious at him, while the Ministry was cold and cruel. A noticeable chunk of students had already been taken home by their parents and McGonagall and the Order grew uneasy as their responsibilities grew. Harry wondered how long it would be before they stopped waiting for Dumbledore and started searching for him instead.

McGonagall was still in charge of Hogwarts and she did her best to remain strong for her students and fellow Professors, but there was nothing she could do to keep the school going when the Ministry and most student's parents were in an uproar of panic. Several people had been killed and wounded in the Death Eater attack, so nobody felt that Hogwarts was safe. All classes had been cancelled and tomorrow was the last full day at the school. Wounded Order members and students were being transferred to St Mungo's hospital and still Dumbledore was no where to be seen. Harry often wondered what repercussions Dumbledore's absence must be having on McGonagall alone.

The atmosphere of the school had grown anxious and frantic over the week. Harry could see brooding worry grow on the faces of the older students, a mix of innocent excitement and a need for reassurance on the younger students, and somber, dreading expressions on the faces of his teachers when they thought no one was looking. The war was coming fast. There were rumours that Hogwarts might not open up at all next year and surprisingly, Harry wasn't bothered. He had no intention of returning here, not when the Order of the Phoenix could become his enemy at any moment and the Death Eaters could clearly find their way in too. He'd have to leave as soon as he could, to fight his own war, to stay alive...

It was this awareness that caused Harry to pack his trunk a day earlier than necessary. He didn't want to catch the attention of the other Gryffindors, lest they should be curious to see what, exactly, he was packing. If he was going to leave Hogwarts for good, to fight against the Order of the Phoenix and the Death Eaters, he'd need to stay prepared. He had learnt that Draco gave Crabbe and Goyle the Polyjuice Potion throughout the year from Slughorn's private stock, so he couldn't resist taking a few samples for himself before the secret was known. In small phials, he kept the potion safe at the bottom on his trunk.

He was only vaguely aware that Tom sat at the end of his bed, watching him. He was careful not to touch any of Harry's carefully folded clothes, or his rolls of parchment, ink-pots, quills, and books. They spoke to each other as often as they could manage lately, but ever since Dumbledore's death, Tom had taken up the habit of watching Harry calmly without comment. Harry supposed he did it just because he could; they no longer lost their magical ability when Tom stayed visible for hours on end. Dumbledore's magic was truly a powerful tool.

Harry pushed the thought out of his mind, ripping up a scrap of parchment a little more forcefully than he first intended. When he glanced up, he found Tom hadn't noticed. He was looking down at his pale, thin fingers, which were entwined in the Locket's delicate chain. Only, this wasn't Salazar Slytherin's Locket. It wasn't even a Horcrux. On the first evening after Dumbledore's death, they had recognised this object as a fake. The ornate, serpentine 'S' engraved on the real Locket's surface was nowhere to be seen and this object was smaller and bland. It became warm at Harry's prolonged touch and there certainly wasn't a shard of Voldemort's soul concealed inside it.

"You're not going to get anywhere gawking at that locket all night," Harry said heavily, speaking for the first time. "You may as well give it a rest."

"I shan't be here all night," Tom assured him softly. "I'm merely thinking."

Annoyed by unrelated thoughts, Harry let him carry on in peace. He thought bitterly of Dumbledore's magic and what use it was to them. He often wished they had used another wizard, not Dumbledore, for the power they needed...

"I wonder only who took the real Locket," Tom mused, not for the first time. "Who would have power enough to discover Lord Voldemort's secrets, if not Albus Dumbledore?"

Harry had no answer. He couldn't say he was particularly bothered, either. His adventure with Dumbledore into the Cave had now been meaningless, but he felt no anguish at the loss. He, in fact, felt nothing. Voldemort's real Locket was still out there somewhere and as far as he was concerned, there were more pressing matters to attend to at the moment.

"Dumbledore clearly struggled to find this locket," Tom muttered, his dark eyes alight with curiosity. "After all, he was gone from Hogwarts for days at a time in search for any single Horcrux. If another soul defeated him in a hunt for Slytherin's Locket, why is it that Voldemort does not know? Who in the world could have outsmarted both Dumbledore and Voldemort so swiftly, so masterfully, that neither of them suspected a thing?"

"There's no point asking me about this," Harry said dully. "I don't know any more than you do."

Tom pursed his lips, his head tilted to the side. With a wave of Dumbledore's wand, he levitated the fake Horcrux into the air to watch it from all angles. It span slowly before his dark, red eyes as if falling through water.

More often than he could ignore, Harry got the suspicion that Tom knew more about the Cave and the Locket than he had first let on. It made him wonder whether Tom shared some of Voldemort's memories and whether he, too, was connected to him in some way. He hadn't got around to asking.

"This is not a convincing replica," Tom observed, "but I believe that's far from the point. It's not _what_ the thief replaced the Locket with, but _how_..."

"If Dumbledore couldn't get past that potion, I don't see who else could have. Unless it was Voldemort – but then, why would he put a fake Horcrux in the Locket's place?"

"My thoughts exactly."

They both mulled it over for a moment. Harry busied himself with dusting off an old pair of clean socks that had slipped to the bottom of his trunk. He wondered, for a fleeting second, what Dumbledore would have thought about all this.

"I don't suppose we'll ever know," he murmured.

"Why ever not?"

Tom's question was delicate and untroubled, but when Harry did not answer at once, his gaze fell upon him. Harry wished he wouldn't stare. He averted his eyes to a pile of parchment by his trunk, trying to get his thoughts together.

"It's just... all the knowledge we would have about Voldemort and his Horcruxes died with Dumbledore, didn't it?"

He never looked up to see Tom's reaction, but he waited. He didn't like to speak of Dumbledore's death aloud and he certainly didn't want to see anyone as worried or doubtful as he was about his own fears.

"There will always be more information, more knowledge, in the world than what resided in Dumbledore's mind," Tom told him softly.

Harry was only momentarily reassured. "Yeah, but we can't exactly go asking around Flourish & Blotts for books on the Dark Arts, can we?"

"I wouldn't recommend being quite so obvious, no."

Harry couldn't tell if Tom was being serious or not. It occurred to him that Tom wasn't speaking about books and libraries, after all, but deeper knowledge. At the thought, he remembered something he'd need to pack.

Leaning forwards, he reached a hand under his bed. Tucked into a corner near his night-table was an old rucksack filled with several books. He pulled the books out one at a time, being careful not to damage them.

"I think I should pack these as well," he said. "I don't reckon they'll be missed – if Madam Pince knew they were gone, she would have hunted me down weeks ago."

Tom smiled gently, amused. Harry stacked the books up and shoved a few folded robes aside to make room in his trunk.

"Speaking of the like, I have something for you," Tom announced.

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Think of it as an addition to our collection."

"Of what?"

Harry glanced up, wary, but Tom was gone. He thought, for a second, that he had dashed across the room to grab something, but he was nowhere to be seen. Then, as quickly as he had left, Tom appeared across Harry's bed. He stood with Dumbledore's wand withdrawn, levitating what had to be at least twenty books bound in leather of brown and black.

"What are those for?" Harry asked at once, alarmed.

"There is much for us to learn," Tom said, smiling gently. "I thought it prudent to gather as much information as possible before leaving the school."

Oblivious, apparently, to Harry's shock, Tom flicked Dumbledore wand. The books began organising themselves in the air, drifting down to fall into place systematically by the others. Harry had stood up, but he couldn't remember when. He could barely begin to show his confusion.

"How do you expect me to steal all of these?" he asked in disbelief.

Tom seemed close to saying 'it'll be easy', but he refrained. He stood up straighter. "There is no easier time than now to take information from the depths of the Hogwarts Library. These books shan't be missed soon. They are vital to our safety."

Harry wasn't so sure. He knew the look of Dark Arts books and he suspected most of these fitted the description.

"I can't just read these in public," he said bluntly.

"Then don't. I can teach you how to hide them, if you'd like."

"No, I know how to hide them, but..." Harry shook his head. "I don't even know if all of these will fit."

Tom took a step forwards, glancing at the trunk. "We have the aid of magic, do we not?"

"That's not my point."

Tom looked up at Harry, watching him. He didn't drop his gaze even when their eyes met. Harry's exasperation and distrust confused him. It was then that Harry realised he might be being too paranoid. It was pretty unlikely that all of these books contained dark magic and if he started getting suspicious about them, it wasn't as if he couldn't neglect them at will. He felt it was better to have the information, just to stay safe.

Shaking his head, Harry realised what little time he had left here, so he began rifling through his trunk to make as much room as possible for all of his possessions. His bed was now clear, so Tom perched himself on the end of it. Harry had forgotten, temporarily, how adorable Tom looked when he tried to understand how situations had gone wrong. Harry decided he should explain why he was stressed.

"I know this information is important," he said, "but it's dangerous – you can't deny that. I'm going to have big enough problems as it is answering people's questions, especially when the Order realises Dumbledore is really gone. If I'm found with these books, it's over for me. I'm the last person Dumbledore saw, I'm the last person he spoke to, so they'll already be suspicious of me. I don't know what I'll tell everyone..."

The situation didn't seem bothersome to Tom. "Lie to them," he said. "Tell them Dumbledore did not divulge his whereabouts to you."

"It's not that easy."

"In what way?"

Harry shook his head, unable to explain himself. A sickening feeling of nausea was starting from his stomach and rising.

"Do you fear you cannot lie well enough?" Tom inquired after a pause.

"I... I suppose."

"I can protect you, if you are unable to invent a suitable tale."

"Won't they notice you're not me, or that I'm using Occlumency?"

The answer seemed to be 'yes'. Tom was silent for a moment. "Around certain Order members, you will need to lie on your own. If it is worrisome to you, I can teach you."

Harry's trunk was too full to close properly. He supposed he would need to Charm it later on. The simple problem wasn't enough to distract him from feeling awkward about all of this. "I suppose..."

Tom stared for a moment, as if deciding something. "You needn't be ashamed to ask for assistance," he said, "nor should you fear telling a lie if it is for your own safety. It is through a love of knowledge and an acceptance that no soul can know everything that wise men and women are born. If you are too prideful to allow new information to enthral you, you will not prosper."

Harry was surprised to see Tom had guessed his discomfort so smoothly. He felt oddly encouraged and comforted by these words. If he was going to protect himself from this war, he supposed he had to get used to learning a fair amount of quite obvious information and skills.

"So... how can I lie to the Order?" he asked, keen to get started.

"You must twist your story," Tom said simply. "Take what truly happened and warp it into a far more suitable tale. The Order is aware that you left Hogwarts with Dumbledore alone, but they needn't know you visited the Cave. Even your closest friends do not know. If you keep this information sealed under the pretence of keeping promises to Dumbledore, it will not only keep you safe, but will lead the Order and others to believe you are uncommonly loyal to your now-missing Professor. Grief is a useful shield."

"Do you think they'll believe that?"

"Yes."

"What if they already know about the Cave, what if Dumbledore told them?"

"Dumbledore did not often put his trust in others. He instead used other wizard's ignorance as insurance for his own safety, forcing the Order to stay in the dark while he was trusted without question."

Harry knew this too well. He tried hard to push a strong pang of annoyance out of his mind.

"The Order is aware that Dumbledore would have kept you, too, in the dark," Tom carried on. "This is what will protect you. You must feign ignorance."

"But if the Order finds out, if they find the Cave –"

"Then you will deny knowing the Cave's existence. You will feign remorse at his death."

"What if I don't feel it? What if they find out that I – that I..."

"It is not a surprise that he left you with neither a warning nor an explanation... You followed all of his orders. You returned to Hogwarts. You allowed him to go off on his own because you trusted he would stay safe. This is what you will tell the Order of the Phoenix."

"But I never –"

"Dumbledore died in an accident you weren't aware of," Tom interrupted, speaking clearly and forcibly. "He left you alone and ordered you to leave while he took on a dangerous task in a place you've never been."

"But what if they find out that I –"

"They won't know a single thing," Tom told him gently. "They won't know where you went and why, they'll know only that he kept you safe yet failed to save himself from death."

Harry stared at Tom with a somber, worried expression. He supposed this lie fitted well enough, but he wanted to know that the Order wouldn't trip him up. He was terrified of being caught in his lies.

"Now tell me: what happened that night?" Tom asked.

Harry understood that Tom wanted him to repeat these lies as practice. He clenched his jaw for a moment, worry washing over him.

"I – I left Hogwarts with Dumbledore," he said slowly. "I can't say why, because he wants it to be secret but – but something went wrong."

"Dumbledore didn't explain anything," Tom suggested.

"Yeah, he – he said he needed to be somewhere. He said that if I wanted to stay safe –"

"You needed to go back to Hogwarts for safety."

Harry nodded stiffly, trying to remember that. "I don't know where he went. He wouldn't tell me. He wouldn't even tell me why. That's all I know."

"Remember that you trusted Dumbledore," Tom added. "Remember that you're as confused and worried as everyone else."

Harry nodded again, his expression sullen. He didn't want to do any of this.

"We will need to improve the explanation of why you left the school, but the Order is more than aware that Dumbledore supplied you with extra training over the course of the school year. It is best to keep secrets safe with loyalty and ignorance."

– X –

The last full day at Hogwarts flew by so fast, Harry felt he missed it. He supposed it had a lot to do with the constant talking going on in the Common Room and the questions other students fired at him without a second thought concerning Dumbledore and the Death Eaters. It was only after a particularly difficult conversation with Ginny (involving an explanation that life was getting too dangerous for them to logically date) when Harry decided to retreat to the boy's dormitory. He spent the evening alone in bed, reading. The high point of that day was he only had to drop one of Tom's books due to it being full of too much dark magic.

The trip back to London on the Hogwarts Express the following day was equally as awkward for Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Earlier that morning it was announced to Ron that Draco Malfoy would be staying at the Burrow and he was furious, to say the least. No matter what Hermione did to try and calm him down, he refused to stop pointing out why McGonagall's choice was wrong and why Malfoy didn't deserve anything but to return to the Death Eaters. When Hermione eventually gave up trying to reason with Ron, her attention fell upon another painful subject: why Harry and Ginny had broken up. It made Ron more irritated than ever. He asked a fair amount of simple, blunt questions that made Harry cringe in discomfort. He hadn't realised just how little Ron knew about his relationship with Ginny.

When the train arrived at King's Cross station later in the evening, Hermione was visibly relieved to leave Ron's company and meet her parents on the platform. On their way off the train, Harry thought he spotted Ginny's flaming red hair in a compartment further down and he hastily averted his eyes. Behind him, Crabbe and Goyle were talking thickly about something he couldn't quite catch. He supposed Draco, too, was nearby. How would he react to standing on the platform when his parents were nowhere in sight? Would his Slytherin pride allow embarrassment to overthrow anguish at the sight of Mrs Weasley and the Order waiting for him instead?

Harry's questions weren't answered soon. He found Mrs Weasley, Tonks, Lupin, and Mad-Eye waiting on the platform for all of them as usual, smiling and waving towards Harry, but before he could greet them (and awkwardly ignore Ginny), Hermione pulled him aside. There was a serious, concerned look in her eyes.

"You're going to be alright, aren't you?" she asked him gently.

Harry was disarrayed by her honest care. In all honesty, he wasn't sure how to answer this. To keep himself from divulging the truth, he brought her attention to a lighthearted thought. "It's only the Burrow, Hermione. I'm pretty sure I've faced worse places."

She smiled faintly, but it barely reached her eyes. "I'll be there in a few weeks, but I can't say things are going to be easy. In all honesty, I – I don't know how things are going to change."

Harry tried to ignore it when her eyes shone a little brighter. He felt a wave of guilt and terror and he couldn't find the words to say.

"I know you're not going back to Hogwarts next year," she said. "I know there's a war coming and that if Dumbledore doesn't return soon –"

He turned his face away slightly before he could stop himself. She noticed it and doubtlessly mistook his guilt for fear. Her sorrow worsened, but before he could really take in the sight, she leapt forward and pulled him into a hug.

"Hermione," he murmured, "it's – it's alright."

He wasn't sure she believed him. When she pulled away, her eyes were still shining and her expression didn't change until she noticed Ron standing sheepishly nearby. A smile broke across her face. She moved forwards to hug him next.

"You'll have to write to me, both of you," she said. "Even if you're at the Dursley's, Harry."

"Assuming the post isn't being monitored," Ron added darkly. Hermione's hug had only slightly lessened his foul mood. Hermione pretended not to notice.

"My parents are here now," she said, "I have to go. But take care!"

Harry and Ron mumbled words of farewell, then she was gone. Harry felt an odd mix between affection and loss. He wondered if he'd even see her again. Before these lonesome thoughts could get to him, however, he saw Ron's face drop into an ugly scowl. His eyes were fixed on a moving target several feet behind Harry. Draco Malfoy had arrived, stalling for time so as to avoid as many Slytherin eyes as possible. Harry's heart dropped when he saw that Ginny, too, looked upon Draco like an outcast, like a threat. The only relief was the Order members, who all made a point to act calm.

The trip back to the Burrow was long and more awkward than ever. They were taking Ministry cars back to the Weasley's house and Draco was absolutely appalled. He sat in the back of one and stared out of the window for the entire trip, not saying a single word. Harry refused to look at Ginny, never mind talk to her, while Ron kept starting conversations and stopping them abruptly as if he feared saying too much in front of a Slytherin. Harry couldn't imagine how they'd survive the summer like this.

There was more than enough room at the Burrow for everyone, especially as Percy's room was free for Draco, but Harry didn't think this was going to sort out any rivalry in the house. As usual, he was staying in Ron's room and although wasn't fond of the idea, he supposed Fred and George's room was reserved for any Order members or other Weasleys who might visit. It would be suspicious to Ron if he asked to change rooms, so he stuck to sleeping on his camp bed with less solitude and less time to read the books Tom had given him. He wondered whether he'd ever get time to speak to Tom alone.

On their first night back at the Burrow, Ron decided to open a conversation about the recent events at Hogwarts. Harry thought, at first, that he was doing this in anger at Malfoy staying over, but it became clear that his hatred of the boy was fading when interest caught him. Harry had avoided talking to Ron and Hermione about the Death Eater attack so far, but he supposed his luck couldn't last forever. He was laying down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, while Ron sat up idly in his own bed, his shoulders slouched.

"Where do you reckon Dumbledore is?" he asked, as if the idea fascinated him. "It's not like him to disappear when all of this is going on. I mean, if the Death Eater attack won't make him return to Hogwarts, what will? There's no way McGonagall knows where he is. She never would have closed the school if she knew."

"Who knows?" Harry asked flatly. "He could have circled the world half a dozen times by now."

"Did he say anything to you? The night you left Hogwarts, I mean?"

Harry's heart leapt, but Ron didn't notice a thing. "No."

"Where did you even go?"

"We were hunting a Horcrux."

"I know, but where?"

"Does it matter?"

Harry's question was harsh. Ron's silence told him he was being too cold.

"It's just... it wasn't anywhere interesting. We found something, though."

"A Horcrux?" Ron asked at once, interested.

Harry nodded. He had decided to tell Ron and Hermione this much, in case they didn't realise he would be hunting Horcruxes soon. It wasn't as if they'd tell anyone. Heaving himself up from his bed for a moment, Harry reached around his neck for the fake Locket's chain.

"You're wearing it?" Ron asked in disbelief.

"I don't reckon it's a real one," Harry told him dully. "It's not like the one I saw in Voldemort's memory. It's cheaper, different."

"What do you mean? Where's the real Horcrux?"

Harry didn't answer. He became aware of Tom sitting at the end of his bed, invisible to Ron. As Harry took off the Locket, Ron's eyes were huge. He clutched the Locket by its chain, holding it up.

"Pass it here, then," Ron suggested.

Seeing no reason to object, Harry did so. Ron reached out a gangly hand, but before he could quite grasp the Locket's chain, Harry had let go. It fell to the ground with a heavy thud and a crack.

"Shit – sorry!" Ron exclaimed. "I didn't mean to –"

He stopped. On the ground, the Locket had cracked open. Harry, Ron, and Tom stared at it in shock, before Harry leapt forth. There was something inside the Locket's window.

"Is that a note?" Ron asked.

It was. Wedged in the Locket's insides, the note was written on a scrap of parchment. Harry realised this was a fairly obvious thing to expect and he couldn't see why both he and Tom missed it.

"I reckon so, yeah..."

"Let's read it, then!"

Harry was already on it. Tom moved closer, his dark eyes falling upon the thin writing. It read:

_To the Dark Lord_

_I know I will be dead long before you read this_

_but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret._

_I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can._

_I face death in the hope that when you meet your match,_

_you will be mortal once more._

_R.A.B._

Harry read the note over several times, his brow furrowed. When he was finished, he lowered the Locket for a moment to think and Ron reached out his hand. It was passed. Ron read the note inside hastily, mouthing each word slightly until he reached the end. He was awe-struck.

"R.A.B.," he murmured, "but who was that?"

"I don't know," Harry answered. Ron shook his head slowly and they sat in silence for a moment. Harry couldn't say this letter made him feel much different. It gave him a clue about who outsmarted both Dumbledore and Voldemort, but what use was this information to him? It might interest Tom, but it wasn't much help. With a lack of feeling, Harry moved to lean back on his bed. He stared blankly upwards, barely thinking.

"Did Dumbledore see this?" Ron asked, oblivious to Harry's sudden desire to be alone. "Did he mention anything?"

Harry shook his head. "I only just found that..."

Tom shifted where he sat, hissing, "_A lie would have fitted._"

Harry shook his head again, closing his eyes.

"It could be why he took off," Ron reasoned. "He might have known who this R.A.B. bloke is."

"_Unless our thief, too, is at the bottom of the lake, I don't suppose that's plausible,_" Tom hissed.

Harry laughed before he could help it.

"What's funny?" Ron asked.

"It – er..." Harry cursed himself for his own stupidity. "It's just like Dumbledore, isn't it? Running off without a word, following clues and keeping me in the dark..."

"I suppose," Ron murmured, clearly at a lack to understand how this was funny.

"It's just – he must have wanted it to be a secret. If that's why he's gone, I don't suppose he wants the Order to know."

"Let's keep it quiet then," Ron said firmly, as if this settled things. "At least until Dumbledore comes back."

Harry's spirits plummeted. He stared at the ceiling, trying hard not to show it, but his expression was sullen and dark. It was hard to ignore the realisation that Dumbledore was not coming back. He would never be seen again and if Harry wanted to keep on living, his body would never be found either. Harry closed his eyes.

Ron seemed to get the impression that Harry was distraught. He waited in awkward silence, fearing what Harry might do.

"You don't reckon he got into any danger, do you?"

The question was so innocent, so hopeful, that Harry couldn't take it. With swift anger, he sat up in his bed. He didn't dare look at Ron. He stared stared instead at the carpet between them, his jaw clenched.

"Just forget about it," he murmured.

He stood up and Ron began to protest. "What? Where are you –?"

Harry didn't care how obvious he was making his anger.

"Harry, wait!" Ron called after him.

Harry paused at the doorway, his back to Ron, who had stood up. He wavered for a moment, trying to get his thoughts straight.

"He's going to come back, mate. There's no way Dumbledore could be defeated by whatever challenge he's facing in the search for R.A.B. You don't have to worry."

Ron thought he was scared and angry at Dumbledore's disappearance. It was for the best that he thought this way, Harry realised. Ron's words reassured him that he hadn't just messed up all of his lies in one go. All Harry could do was nod stiffly. Then, without a word, he left Ron's room for the bathroom to get ready for sleep. They didn't speak about Dumbledore again that night.

The following morning, Harry awoke feeling tired and apathetic. Even after a warm mug of coffee, his state of mind did not subside and although Ron avoided speaking about Dumbledore in front of him, it appeared that Ginny hadn't thought to consider his stance on the subject. She was talking seriously about the possibility of Dumbledore tracking down Death Eaters. Snape had fled Hogwarts with Voldemort's other supporters on the night of their attack (a fact that angered and terrified many) and she was convinced Dumbledore was on his trail.

"Don't let the ferret hear you say that," Ron murmured, glancing around as if he expected Malfoy to show up at any second. "He'll go off on one if he realises his parents are in danger from Dumbledore too."

Biting his tongue, Harry pretended he hadn't heard this. There was no chance he could explain his views on Malfoy without angering Ron for a few more painful hours. Nobody knew he had kept Malfoy away from the Death Eaters except McGonagall and a few teachers. Ginny was unaffected by Ron's joke, as if it went without saying. It was no surprise, suddenly, that Malfoy hadn't come down for breakfast at all.

Harry wanted to separate himself from Ron that morning, but he failed to notice any of the hints Harry dropped and he was oblivious to his bad mood, which lasted for days. Ron stuck by his side almost constantly, often acting as if none of them could be safely alone in the house with a Malfoy in their midst. His determined closeness and ignorance made Harry wish he could be around Tom instead. For a week, this wish never came true.

The only time Harry could be alone was when Ron was distracted. This barely ever happened now that Hermione was gone, but one night after dinner, Ginny decided to engage him in a detailed conversation about Tonks and Lupin. Harry had been avoiding Ginny ever since arriving at the Burrow, so he knew it would bother no one when he slipped out of the kitchen. He went outside for some fresh air, to clear his cluttered head, and for almost an hour he watched the sun creep towards the distant trees alone. Tom was not here. It was only when the sun began to fully set that someone approached Harry.

It was Malfoy. At first, Harry was stunned to see him – he had been hidden away in Percy's room all week, never joining meals, never talking to anyone. Harry couldn't say he blamed him. Malfoy strolled past a patch of low-growing vegetables and berries, scowling at an ugly gnome that bumped into his shoes. His pale, pinched face was brooding when the gnome scuttled off. It was a minute or two before he even noticed Harry sitting on a bench in front of him. When he did, he was momentarily embarrassed.

Harry wondered what Ron would think about the 'enemy' standing so close. He decided to say something, to break the silence.

"I suppose you're avoiding the Weasley's too?"

Malfoy was confused. "Why would _you_ be avoiding the weasels?"

Harry smirked before he could help it, thinking of Ron calling Malfoy a 'ferret' in turn. They hated each other equally, apparently. His spirit dropped again when he thought about Malfoy's question. "Sometimes I need a break."

Malfoy said nothing. His eyes reduced to slits as if he couldn't decide whether or not Harry was lying.

"I'm surprised you're even outside," Harry commented. "You must have been upstairs for – what? A week now?"

Malfoy straightened up slowly. "Don't pretend you wouldn't be hiding too if you had anywhere else to be, Potter."

Harry was tempted, solely, to comment that Malfoy had nowhere to be either, but he refrained. It wasn't fair, given the situation. Malfoy was tense and irritated and he still looked ill.

"I suppose you must hate it," Harry mentioned, "being here. Seeing their family."

This was the wrong thing to say. Malfoy's face twisted into a scowl at once. Without a hint of restraint, he spat, "Don't project your problems onto me, Potter!"

"How am I pro–?"

"I'm not the one with two dead parents!"

He said it before he could help himself, surely. For the first time, his face was flushed with colour – in anger or embarrassment, Harry couldn't tell – and he was glowering. Harry thought he should be annoyed at Malfoy, but he wasn't. He felt nothing, except maybe sorrow for Malfoy's situation. He felt a sudden need to express this feeling, but it all came out wrong. In a quiet, brave voice he spoke his mind honestly: "Not yet..."

Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke. They instead paused with their eyes locked, taking in the truth of these words. Draco was shaking. Why didn't he turn and run away, Harry wondered? Or start a fight? That's normally what happened in these situations. It reminded Harry of their worst fight, at Hogwarts. He wondered if Draco was still scarred and if he forgave Harry for the spell he had used. Was he impressed by that magic? Or terrified of it? Did he think Harry had meant to hurt him so badly? And did he think it made his attempted Cruciatus Curse forgivable?

In a swift movement, Malfoy turned away. Harry couldn't tell if he looked more angry or upset; he was gone before Harry could fully take in what had happened. He thought they should both win rewards for holding a conversation for even this stretch of time. The idea made him smile faintly, until the chill of the shadows surrounding him caught his attention. He wondered if he had pushed things too far. He wondered if Draco would be more troubled than ever tonight. Guilt impaired his ability to see beauty in the quickly setting sun, so he headed for the house.

He found that Ginny and Ron were no longer alone in the kitchen. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Remus Lupin were standing by the fire, talking quietly with Mrs Weasley, whose smile was faint and ineffective against the air of urgency and dread the Order brought. Even before saying a word to the new arrivals, Harry could tell Lupin and Kingsley had been waiting for him. They looked towards him when he entered the room and their eyes followed him even when he sat down next to Ron. He hated to think they could sense guilt within him. Molly cleared out of the room, calling Ginny along with her. Remus and Kingsley asked to speak with Harry alone.

Harry was nervous at their request, but he had been preparing for this. It became apparent as soon as their conversation started that the Order was desperate for information on Dumbledore's whereabouts. Lupin and Kingsley inquired why Harry had left Hogwarts with Dumbledore that night, where they had gone, and why Dumbledore had left without so much as a warning. Harry repeated everything Tom had told him to, finding that these lies were surprisingly easy to tell. He could feel Tom's presence in his own mind as he spoke, waiting.

The more he told his story, the more he was sure that Lupin and Kingsley bought it, but they weren't pleased to hear it. As members of the Order of the Phoenix, they were obligated to conceal how lost and worried they truly felt, but Harry saw a desperate, sorrowful look in their eyes when they exchanged looks. Harry soon learnt that many Order members, Mad-Eye most of all, believed Dumbledore's absence was a very; very bad sign. Harry got into the habit of eavesdropping on Order members whenever they showed up at the Burrow from that day on.

He hated to see everyone around him grow worried as days passed. What would they do if they knew Dumbledore was dead? And if they knew he was murdered by Harry's hand? Dumbledore was an important wizard to so many people – to the entire wizarding world, really. Even Gellert Grindelwald had been unable to defeat him, so why had Harry succeeded? He felt it was because he had cheated. He had waited until Dumbledore was weakened and he had used his connection as a mask for what he truly was. A murderer. A scared, lonely boy who didn't want to face death...

Ever since the Order inquiry, Harry couldn't sleep. He often found himself staring into space at night, reliving Dumbledore's death. When he eventually did fall sleep, he would awake some nights in a cold sweat, panting and terrified by what his own dreams had in store for him. One of these nights, a week after the Order's inquiries, Harry got out of bed and stumbled towards Ron's bedroom door. Shutting it gently behind him and stepping as quietly as he could down the hall, he headed for the bathroom.

Inside the small room, he washed his face with cold water, clutching the sides of a sink in distress at his own thoughts. It was that night that he looked up and saw his reflection differently for the first time. Even without his glasses on, he felt he could see himself better than ever and he had changed. His eyes were dark around the edges and they stared back at him with more intensity than ever before in his reflection. He found himself resembling someone else, someone close. He wasn't sure who, until –

He saw Tom standing behind him. With a soft, composed expression, Tom stared at Harry through the mirror. Harry initially tried to ignore him, but he still noticed how handsome Tom's dark features looked in the dim light. They hadn't spoken properly in days. Harry was too unsettled about the situations going on around him to care much for what Tom had to say.

"Could you not sleep?"

Harry turned off the sink's tap. He shook his head once in response, clenching his jaw shut.

"The Order does not seem at all suspicious," Tom commented. "You did a good job of lying to them. I admit, I was impressed."

Harry wasn't sure what to make of the complement. Tom carried on speaking softly.

"It is unlikely that the Order will think you are hiding a murder, unless they find information and evidence that is so far unobtainable for them. As things currently stand, we are safe."

"I know," Harry said dully, folding a small towel in his hands. "I'm not worried about that."

If this surprised Tom, Harry didn't catch his expression. He was tranquil.

"We may be able to stay here a little longer than I first thought," he said. "I wish only that we had more time alone."

Harry glanced up. Tom's expression was calm and innocent through the reflection, but Harry hadn't fallen for his smooth words. Blankly, he said, "We'll have time to study when we get out of here. I'd rather not risk it."

As soon as he said it, he realised that might not be what Tom meant. There was a comforting, adoring look in his eyes. It seemed as if he was tempted to kiss Harry, but instead of feeling enchanted by the sight, Harry was oddly uninterested. What would be the point in kissing Tom right now? He was a spirit that currently lacked a body. Harry wasn't interested in being kissed for his own gain – the idea put him off quite a bit – and he was sure Tom wasn't able to feel physical attachment yet. If Tom appreciated how he looked or how he was in spirit, they could both relish in that comfort without the aid of touch.

In all the rush that had been going on over the last few weeks, Harry hadn't taken much time to consider what things were like now Tom had absorbed Dumbledore's magic. In all honesty, he had avoided wondering if Tom was more whole, because he hated the idea of taking advantage of their new power unless it was strictly necessary. Kissing Tom was not necessary, regardless of how handsome he looked in the dim light. Harry closed his eyes for a moment, shaking off a mental image of Dumbledore being dragged towards the edge of the lake...

Something in his expression must have given his thoughts away. Tom didn't approach Harry, but he continued to watch him as if fascinated and enchanted by his mere appearance and being.

"You should sleep," he said eventually, noticing Harry's weary stance.

Harry didn't want to, but he supposed he wouldn't be able to stay up without catching unwanted attention tomorrow. Without a word, he made to leave the bathroom. Tom disappeared as quickly as he had shown up. Harry didn't see him again that night.

– X –

The next morning, after a particularly uncomfortable, anxiety-filled sleep, Harry awoke to find Ron's bed empty. He was glad to see it, in all honesty; it had been a while since he could stay in bed for as long as he liked, talking to no one, left to his own thoughts. His mind wandered over certain information he had learnt through Tom's books, certain powerful spells that could help him with staying safely hidden in the future. He wondered whether he was strong enough to cast them. When he eventually did get up, he showered and got ready with a lack of haste. It was still early in the morning, around nine O'clock. Harry thought he should head downstairs for breakfast.

He heard several familiar voices on his way to the kitchen. It became apparent why Ron woke up early: Hermione had arrived at the Burrow. Harry was relieved – both because he missed her and because he thought she might be able to distract Ron from now on. He needed time to speak to Tom and study magic alone. Hermione was talkative enough throughout breakfast, but Harry thought he could sense she was a little tense. When the conversation began turning to recent murders and Death Eater attacks in the news, he assumed that was why.

It became very clear throughout the day that Dumbledore's disappearance was on Hermione's mind a lot. She was reluctant to bring it up at the wrong time, in case she were to put Harry off before she could properly ask, but numerous times she glanced towards him when the name was mentioned. Later in the evening, when the rest of the house had gone to bed, Harry, Ron, and Hermione moved up into Ron's room to have their first private conversation since Hermione's arrival. Harry couldn't say he was he was glad to be a part of it.

He sat on his bed with his legs crossed, facing Ron and Hermione. The conversation quickly turned to the last week of Hogwarts and Dumbledore's absence. Hermione sat on the end of Ron's bed, catching Ron's attention wholly as she spoke. Ron was lounging up near his pillows, a focused, brooding look on his face. Hermione was keen to get a clear picture on everything happening around them and Harry's presence gave her the excuse to start bombarding him with questions.

"You must have some idea of where he is," she reasoned, her gaze stern and desperate. "What did he say to you the night you left Hogwarts together?"

Harry drew in a breath, averting his eyes and shaking his head once as if the question annoyed him. He recited Tom's lies. "I've told everyone a hundred times: Dumbledore said he had to be somewhere important. He said I should go back to Hogwarts alone to stay safe. He wouldn't tell me where he went."

"He didn't give you any inclination of where he had to go?" asked Hermione.

"No," Harry lied.

She appeared unsure. She watched him for a long moment.

"I still reckon it has something to do with R.A.B.," said Ron. He then turned to Harry, adding, "I told Hermione about it already, I hope you don't mind – the Locket was on your bed."

Harry nodded curtly in understanding.

"If that were the case, why would Dumbledore not mention it?" asked Hermione. "I can't see him running off to investigate this without a bit more information for himself. This could have easily been a trap set up by Voldemort."

"He must have wanted to keep R.A.B. a secret," Harry answered. How strange it felt, to talk about all of this as if it were really happening. "He wanted to deal with this on his own."

"But why? If somebody else is hunting Horcruxes, we should all know about it, surely."

"Well, maybe he ran into trouble?" suggested Ron. "Or, I dunno, he thought he knew who R.A.B. was, but he's still searching for him?"

Hermione shook her head, thinking it over. "Honestly, I'm not sure about this. It isn't normal for Dumbledore to disappear for so long without telling anyone. I just wish we had more information."

"Well, we won't until Dumbledore comes back," Ron said flatly. "There's no point worrying when we can't do anything to help."

"We don't need Dumbledore to fight all our battles, Ron. He may have taught us what we know so far, but–"

"But that's just it, isn't it? He's the only one who knows about this stuff. None of us even know where to find another Horcrux, never mind how to destroy one – he didn't tell you that, did he, Harry?"

The answer was 'no', but Harry felt suddenly vulnerable and unprepared when the realisation struck him. Hastily, he tried to find a way to admit that he knew nothing. "I guess Dumbledore didn't have time to, er..."

Ron was unsurprised, yet disappointed to hear it. Harry barely noticed. He began thinking about whether or not Tom knew how to destroy a Horcrux. He decided he should ask later on. Ron spoke to Hermione before he could wonder much more.

"I don't suppose you've read anything new about it?"

To their surprise, Hermione's cheeks reddened. "Well... now that you mention it, I – I did manage to, erm..."

Shaking her head in embarrassment and looking away, she reached for a rucksack she had placed by Ron's bed. From it, to Harry's astonishment, she withdrew a few dusty, black leather-bound books.

"You're kidding!" Ron exclaimed in disbelief, his mouth agape. "Where did you get those?"

"They were – well, they were in Dumbledore's office," Hermione explained in a rush, "Oh, but it wasn't stealing! It had been days since he was at Hogwarts, I – I didn't think he'd be back in time. Anything could have happened before then and I -"

Harry was no longer listening. Without thinking, he sat up, his eyes fixed on the books. Hermione passed him one absentmindedly when he reached out a hand. Ron and Hermione barely looked away from each other at all as they spoke. Harry ran his fingers along the book, feeling its surprisingly unharmed surface. His brow was furrowed, his eyes alight.

"Dumbledore taught Harry about Horcrux for a reason, didn't he?" Hermione was saying, "He let you and I know about them too because he wanted us to fight this together – to fight Voldemort together. At Hogwarts, I had the most awful feeling about Dumbledore's absence... I thought it only appropriate to take whatever information we could. I don't think Dumbledore would disapprove."

Ron was somewhere between disbelief and admiration for her quick thinking. In a stunned voice, he said, "I dunno what we'd do without you, Hermione."

If she smiled fondly, Harry didn't see it. He wondered how informative these books were and whether they described Horcruxes to a full extent. He wondered, too, why Dumbledore had removed these texts from the Hogwarts Library. Had he heard rumours of books going missing? Or had he planned to pass these onto Harry before the end of the school year? There was something captivating about this book, about the very feel of it, the look of it, the smell...

He became aware, however, that he was being watched. Ron and Hermione had stopped talking and when Harry looked up, it was to see their eyes upon him. He stared back blankly, unsure what they had seen in him and why they had stopped. Ron looked away hastily, unsettled, while Hermione glanced at the book in Harry's hands. He had been holding it, feeling it, for a few minutes now and it hadn't escaped her notice. Harry got the impression they were alarmed in some way.

Ron decided to carry on talking. Hermione joined him calmly, but from that point on, Harry felt something had changed. They spoke about Dumbledore's disappearance for hours that night and almost repetitively over the following days. Harry hated their curiosity more than he could safely express. No matter how clear he made his annoyance and reluctance to talk, Ron and Hermione refused to stop asking him to repeat what he knew. Since he was the last known person to speak to Dumbledore, they thought he was their best, last connection to Dumbledore's fading trail. Harry's only opinion was that they wouldn't want to see what where that trail ended.

The more they bothered him, the more Harry found himself drifting away. He spent the majority of his time in Ron's room, waiting for Ron to get bored and leave so he could study the books Tom had given him. Eventually, Ron gave up trying to drag him into conversations with Hermione and he no longer cared whether he spent all day reading in bed or sulking in a corner. He believed, quite usefully, that Harry was terrified of being hunted down by Voldemort, so he needed to read up on magic. Harry wished he could believe it was that simple.

After avoiding his friends for the first week of Hermione's stay, they seemed to get the message that he preferred being alone. They were used to this already, so they made no fuss about it. Harry found himself reading and talking to Tom for hours on end, missing meals too often, being late for them even more. Every now and then, he drifted in and out of the Burrow and its garden when Ron and Hermione were up in Ron's room and it was during one of these nights that Harry completely skipped out on dinner. When he returned to the Weasley's kitchen, he found he wasn't the only one, either.

Malfoy had crept downstairs for food late, as he often did. Mrs Weasley had made a habit of keeping meals warm for him in the oven; she understood his situation and she was compassionate enough to know that his distance was normal. Out of all the people staying at the Burrow and all the Order members who visited it to speak to Malfoy, Mrs Weasley was the only person he showed a hint of respect for. Harry supposed it was either because she reminded him or his mother or he knew he'd be chucked out by her for putting up a fuss.

When Harry saw Malfoy standing alone in the kitchen, holding nothing but a glass of water, he was glad to see he wasn't angry at him or visibly upset in any way. Malfoy hated staying at the Weasley's house and he made no secret of it, but this seemed the least of his problems when he stared off into space, thinking. Three weeks had passed since the disappearance of Dumbledore and Narcissa Malfoy. The weight of so many disappearances was starting to trouble everyone at the Burrow.

Harry's immediate reaction to seeing Malfoy was to ignore him. He made his way to the other side of the kitchen, looking for a plate while he tried not to dwell upon why Malfoy was still here. The latest news, to his knowledge, was that Narcissa Malfoy had run away from the Order of the Phoenix when they tried to approach her. Nobody had heard a single word from her and her whereabouts hadn't surfaced anywhere. Harry hoped the Order was still looking for her and that they hadn't simply given up. The thought made him suddenly less hungry.

Harry waved his wand and allowed food to begin dishing itself onto his plate. He was distracted by Malfoy's presence and he was unsure why he was staying around, doing nothing, saying nothing. It was only when Harry's plate glided towards the table that Malfoy spoke. Harry was about to sit down.

"Potter?"

He looked up. "Yeah?"

There was a long pause, in which Malfoy's tired grey eyes rested upon him. He was fidgeting with the glass in his hand, apparently unsure how to speak.

"I..."

Harry waited. Despite his fragile attempts to preform Legitimacy, he was able to read Malfoy's mind. He had mastered the skill of Occlumency in an uncanny amount of time. Harry often assumed it was in preparation for killing Dumbledore.

"I appreciate what you did," Malfoy managed abruptly. "After the battle... hiding me..."

Harry stared, stunned. This was the closest thing he could get to a 'thank you' from Malfoy, he supposed, but it wasn't something he ever expected to hear. He didn't feel he deserved it.

"I wouldn't let them capture you," he said hastily. "I knew you were innocent."

Malfoy didn't seem so sure. For the first time, he looked away, dropping his eyes to his empty glass. A shadow crossed his face. Harry thought about the task Voldemort had set him and what damage the guilt of potential murder had had upon him throughout the year. Harry realised he might be the only person around who knew what that guilt felt like. Malfoy knew what it was to struggle for survival. Harry hated to think he'd feel as much pain one day.

Malfoy left the room without another word and he never looked back. Harry found he was even less hungry than before, but he tried his best to eat the meal in front of him. After that night, he didn't see Malfoy for a few days. He continued to avoid eating meals with the others and he stayed up in Percy's room most of the time. Harry wasn't sure what he did for hours each day and why he choose to be alone.

"He's probably sending letters to the Death Eaters as we speak," Ron said during dinner one evening. "We'd better watch out, to be honest."

Harry clenched his teeth shut tightly. Ron spoke like this more often than even Hermione could take and it only got worse as time passed. To Harry's surprise, there was a clattering of cutlery; Hermione had ceased eating to glare at Ron.

"Honestly, don't you have _any_ consideration?" she asked, furious.

"What?"

"Don't you understand what he's even going though?"

"Well, I can't tell you that, but I can tell you he's gone through a _lot_ of Death Eater training over the–"

"This isn't a game, Ron! We aren't at Hogwarts anymore, this isn't about which Hogwarts House we're in!"

"Yeah, but this is my house! And at this rate there won't be any Hogwarts thanks to his lot!"

Taking his chance, Harry stood up to leave. He couldn't take their constant arguing on a good day, never mind when it was about something he felt strongly uncertain about. Hermione fell silent from the argument and called after him, disappointed and frustrated, but Ron didn't care that he left and he never stopped complaining. Harry headed straight for Ron's room, knowing they wouldn't be up here for a while.

He grabbed his rucksack from underneath his bed, pulling out the book he was most interested in currently. He found he couldn't focus after a minute or two. Not only did thoughts of Malfoy bother him, but Tom's presence always distracted him a little. Tom smiled lightly from Ron's bed when he glanced up from his book.

"Are you enjoying that one?"

"Sort of," Harry answered truthfully. "I'm not sure how all of these spells are useful for me. I only really care about staying safe and hidden."

Tom inclined his head in understanding. "Is there something else on your mind?"

He had noticed Harry's distraction, Harry supposed. Avoiding the subject of Tom's mere presence, Harry decided to speak about Malfoy. "I'm just thinking about the end of Hogwarts. The Death Eater attack. The Cave."

Tom sat up a little straighter on Ron's bed, tilting his head. "What bothers you about it?"

Harry tried to think. He drew in a deep breath. It was difficult to know where to begin. "It's just, with everything Malfoy did towards the end of the year, trying to kill Dumbledore, letting the Death Eaters in the school... I suppose I'm worried about guilt."

"Guilt? For Dumbledore's death?"

"Yeah."

Tom thought about it. Harry wondered if he had ever felt guilt for the murders he had committed.

"Dumbledore's death was a necessity," Tom said. "It was vital to our survival, not only because his magic is essential, but because he marked us for Death. We needed to end Snape and Dumbledore's plan of letting Voldemort kill you."

"We could have taken magic from any witch or wizard," Harry reasoned, "and anyway, we still have Snape to worry about, don't we?"

Silence. Harry looked at Tom and realised that for the first time, he was bewildered.

"What is it?"

Tom did not answer at once. Slowly, silkily, he said, "I'm afraid Severus Snape is no longer a problem..."

Harry tried to think this through, but he was unsuccessful. "Because he's a Death Eater? You think Dumbledore's word can't protect him in the Order anymore, or –?"

"He made the Unbreakable Vow," Tom reminded him.

"What's that got to do with anything?"

Tom remained silent, allowing Harry to think it through. His mind wandered, again, to when he had duelled with Malfoy at Hogwarts. He thought about how he had almost killed Malfoy with the use of 'Sectumsempra' and how Tom had wanted Malfoy dead. Harry remembered this well, because killing Malfoy would have revoked Snape's end of the Unbreakable Vow. Snape would have died and they would have been left with nothing but an already ill and dying Dumbledore. Harry didn't see why any of this was relevant, until he realised –

"Snape wasn't able to kill Dumbledore... He wasn't able to protect Malfoy..."

Tom nodded, watching him figure it out.

"If I hadn't saved Malfoy, he would have been killed by the Death Eaters... That means Narcissa got what she wanted, only – only it wasn't because of Snape. He had a responsibility, but he never fulfilled it!"

"Yes."

"So this means – what? I carried on the Vow for him?"

He could see in Tom's face that this wasn't the case. His heart suddenly plummeted.

"Or Snape – Snape's...?"

"Dead, yes."

The word rang in Harry's ears, sounding suddenly very far away.

"He's – he's dead?"

Harry couldn't comprehend it. Dumbledore's death was bad enough, but killing Snape too in the process? He didn't know what to think. He didn't know what to say.

"An Unbreakable Vow is a very powerful piece of magic," Tom explained calmly, perhaps wishing to help Harry grasp the situation. "It is my belief that since Snape failed to protect Draco, he faced the consequences of breaking such a powerful promise."

Harry refused to believe it. This was too much. "Then where was his body? When did he die?"

"I assume Snape fled with the other Death Eaters in the hope that Draco was amongst them. They would have dealt with his body."

"But – but why didn't you tell me about this sooner?" Harry stammered. "You must have planned this, surely."

Tom's tilted his head a little. "Does this displease you?"

"I don't – well, yeah," Harry managed.

Tom wasn't sure how to react. "Do you not admire this plan?"

"Admire it?" Harry repeated. "That's not what this is about, Tom."

He waited, his eyebrows furrowed, his red eyes alight with curiosity.

"You kept me in the dark," Harry explained flatly. "You didn't give me a clear idea."

"I wanted to protect you."

Harry clenched his teeth, glaring for a moment. "Don't play that."

"Play what?"

"That – that game! Pretending I can't look after myself, pretending it's in my best interest that I do whatever it is you want. I can look after myself, Tom, I'm not a child and I deserve to know the truth. I've had enough of that shit with Dumbledore and the Order as it is."

Tom shifted where he sat coolly, surprising Harry with some genuine respect. He thought over his words, neither angry nor keen to treat it as something insignificant. His voice was calm when he said, "It was never my intention to treat you as Dumbledore treated you."

Relief found Harry, along with a soft feeling of happiness. "Well, now you know."

"But you might not have killed Dumbledore if you knew it would kill two souls."

His moment of relief evaporated. Tom still believed he did the right thing.

In response to Harry's stony expression, Tom decided to explain himself.

"Dumbledore and Snape betrayed you. It was their firm belief that you must die at Voldemort's hand and it is my belief that you would not have killed Dumbledore if you knew it would kill Snape also. You were mere bait in the eyes of your Professors, but I could not let you die at their cruelty. You had to prove yourself worthy of fighting, worthy of vanquishing Voldemort."

"You're wrong," Harry murmured coldly.

Tom was stunned. A steady and almost offended look appeared in his eyes. "You think so?"

"Yeah, I do."

Harry turned to face him, his expression gone. He thought about how Snape and Dumbledore were two of the closest people to him in his life. He wondered how many others would die at his hand, or the hand of this war. When he spoke, his voice was a low murmur.

"You're wrong to think I wouldn't kill them. It's all I could do, isn't it? It's all I could ever do..."

He couldn't tell what Tom felt. He was no longer offended, but that same calculating look stayed. It was as if he was rearranging his thoughts to make this conversation clear in his memory.

"At any rate, it's probably easier that I killed them both at once," Harry carried on. "I don't reckon I could have taken down Snape in a duel... I don't care who I've killed to survive, Tom, but don't lie to me. Don't pretend I can't take the truth, because I'm more than capable."

In silence, Tom nodded once respectfully. In spite of his better judgement, Harry felt Tom was honestly going to tell him everything from now on. As if to comfort him further, to prove he was listening, Tom wrote a promise in words.

"I shan't keep you in the dark next time."

The words were comforting, but it made Harry wonder for the first time if there would have to be a 'next time'. He wasn't ready to kill another person. He didn't think anyone was going to chase after him, but there was still the possibility that more people in the Order of the Phoenix knew about Dumbledore's plans for him. He feared this often. In every glance Lupin, Tonks, Mad-Eye, and even Mrs Weasley cast him, he feared that pitying, sorrowful, knowing look in their eyes. He feared they judged his position in his war and that they hoped, secretly, for his death to end Voldemort's reign quickly. He feared they contemplated selling him out to Voldemort every time they glanced upon his scar, his mark of Death...


	16. Out of Order

**Dear Readers,** Enjoy this one, even if I'm slow. x

* * *

16 – Out of Order

"We shouldn't be doing this. If they catch us listening to their meetings..."

"Then they'll realise you've taken an interest in their cause."

"And you think that's a good thing? They're terrified of spies, Tom."

"They've never been suspicious of you before."

Harry shifted uncomfortably where he stood, holding back a retort. He was attempting to rest his weight against a doorframe without making a sound, listening to muffled voices that were audible through cracks in the Burrow's kitchen door. The Order of the Phoenix was gathering. He spoke only in hisses to Tom, who stood beside him in the shadows like a ghost.

"You've been listening onto these meetings since the age of fifteen, have you not?" Tom asked softly, his attention fixated on Harry's discomfort. "They were never suspicious of it."

"That's different," Harry reasoned. "I was with others... The Order had just started, anyway."

Tom didn't seem convinced that it made a difference. Harry ignored it. He slowed his breath, trying to remain as still as he could; every movement muffled the sound of the Order. He was separated from the kitchen door by a small hallway, but didn't dare get any closed than this.

A chair screeched back in the kitchen. There were voices, louder this time, speaking hurriedly. Someone had arrived. It wasn't until a familiar voice spoke alone, assuring the Order he was alright, that Harry recognised Lupin. His voice faded in and out, broken and serious.

"... I face you all with very little news, I'm afraid... as the war goes on... my kind don't seem to know much about these things..."

Clenching his teeth, Harry eyed the metal latch to the door and thought bitterly of a pair of Extendable Ears Ron had hidden up in his bedroom. He didn't suppose it would be worth dragging Ron and Hermione into this for better hearing – not if it risked them letting the Order know about his spying. They might get scared. They might, also, learn information that he didn't want them to know. He breathed in the smell of dust and wood, feeling irritated.

"What are they saying?" he whispered. "Can you hear?"

"It's not important," Tom told him softly. "They're merely speaking about the Malfoy family."

Harry turned to him at once. "That's important! Do you know any magic?"

Tom was surprised, but after a moment he nodded once, reaching out a hand. Harry passed him Dumbledore's wand, only momentarily aware that if they were caught now, it would taken as clear evidence for his involvement in Dumbledore's disappearance. Tom concentrated on his work, moving his hands through the air slowly, creating some sort of spell. When he was done, he indicated that Harry should listen at the door again.

It was as if slices of the air had been amplified. Harry could hear everything, from the sound of someone pacing to the sound of others leaning back in creaky chairs. It felt like he was standing amongst the Order, listening to the heels of their boots press against the wooden floor, their fingertips tapping faint rhythms on the table. There was the sound of breathing, someone's dry hands rubbing together distractedly, and the familiar creak of Charlie's leather jacket. Harry had no idea that Charlie was in the room until now.

It was Lupin who was pacing. Harry figured this out when he heard him sigh in time with boot-clad footsteps. He, however, wasn't the first one to speak. Tonks was contradicting something he had said.

"Podmore hasn't heard a thing," she told him. Her voice was so clear, it made Harry jump. Tom laughed quietly beside him. "There hasn't been any news from the Ministry, either."

Someone turned around on the left of the room, setting down a glass.

"You mean, we've lost track of her completely?" asked Mrs Weasley.

"I'm afraid so."

"But what about the boy?"

No one spoke for a moment. Mrs Weasley's concern seemed unsettling to the rest of them. Goblets clanked against the soft, damp rings of alcohol indented into wood. Harry turned to Tom, looking for reassurance that this wasn't bad news, but his dark eyes shone with caution.

"There's no telling how he'll react, but there's still hope, Molly..."

As much as she tried, Tonks didn't sound reassuring. Mrs Weasley hadn't moved.

"The Ministry has surely noticed Narcissa's absence," said Lupin. "Are they not investigating her disappearance?"

"They're more concerned about her son, if I'm honest," Tonks answered. "It's no surprise."

Harry's heartbeat quickened painfully. He waited.

"We're probably better of without the Ministry's help from now on, anyway," said Charlie wisely. "We'll only have an advantage if the Death Eaters stay out of the Ministry, but we know there are more spies in there now than ever. It's only a matter of time before they gain information from the Aurors as soon as we do."

"You may be right," Tonks agreed heavily. "We nearly got ourselves in a mess, hiding Draco's whereabouts. It's difficult to look for clues on where Narcissa Malfoy ran off to, especially when half the Aurors can't find a single shred of information. We're better off looking for her ourselves, in the Order."

The witches and wizards sitting around the kitchen table were reluctant to pitch any further ideas. Harry could only imagine the furtive glances some of them must have cast the others, unsure how to react, how to respond, and when to keep fighting.

"What should we tell Draco?" Mrs Weasley asked eventually, her voice determinedly strong.

"We'll tell him the truth," Lupin answered, "that we are still searching for his mother. There's no point in scaring him with stories of the old war. We won't stop searching until we find out what happened."

Harry thought, at first, that Lupin had succeeded in calming Mrs Weasley down, but the floorboards creaked softly beneath her as she turned away. Then came the sound of her sniffing faintly. Harry was rooted to the spot, transfixed to her grief. Her voice shook when she spoke.

"You can't have forgotten what the first war was like, Remus. There's only one explanation for disappearances..."

Nobody said a word. Harry waited, expecting some quick reassurance, some indication that death wasn't inevitable, but nothing came. He knew she had lost her brothers during the war. He didn't understand why no one was helping her. Mrs Weasley was normally so calm and optimistic; it filled him with dread to realise that behind closed doors, she was terrified of another boy having their family ripped from them.

"This is not the first war, Molly," said Kingsley Shacklebolt calmly, the first one brave enough to speak. "We are stronger now. We know what to expect from these same wizards causing the same terror. Narcissa Malfoy may have disappeared, but there is one thing we know for sure: she fled because she's wise. She's fighting for survival."

Harry gripped the edge of the doorframe, leaning closer.

"What matters is that we keep Draco safe," said Lupin, speaking to everyone. "He won't take the news lightly, but I'll do everything to assure him there is hope..."

"Don't doubt that, Remus," added Tonks seriously. "There _is_ still hope."

To this, there was no reply. Harry's breath brushed against the wooden door, the only audible sound.

"_Voldemort is angry with the Malfoys,_" Tom hissed beside him.

Harry turned his head away slightly. He didn't want to hear it. He concentrated harder on the Order. Nobody spoke.

"Narcissa was right to run, naturally," Tom carried on, "yet it surprises me that the Order care to contact her..."

Harry wished they'd keep talking. He responded to Tom's Parseltongue reluctantly.

"Neither of them support Voldemort, Tom. They're trying to unite Draco with his mum..."

"To what avail?"

Harry's eyes narrowed critically, but after a moment, he wasn't sure the answer was obvious. He shook his head lightly, staring into space.

"I don't know... To thank them for not supporting the Death Eaters, I guess."

Tom considered this slowly. He didn't look confused, nor did he ask what Harry was thinking, but he was interested. He watched for signs of emotion on his face and seemed intrigued by his worry.

Harry couldn't bear to wait for the Order any longer. He had learnt everything he needed to know tonight and he had no intention of listening in to more bad news. There was no telling where Narcissa had fled to, nor how much danger she was in.

"Come on," he murmured, straightening up. "Let's go, before they come out..."

He moved away from the door, heading up the stairs as quietly as he could. Tom followed in his shadow. It was a moment before Harry noticed he was smiling in unnatural ecstasy, his reddened eyes gleaming.

"We should relish in the accomplishment of our eavesdropping," Tom hissed, "for tonight, we have gained access to the Order's secrets..."

Harry slowed for a moment, but didn't respond. He averted his eyes from Tom's maddened grin and did his best to ignore him. There was no reason for him to be happy over discovering the Order was struggling to help the Malfoys; it wouldn't help him in any way. All this meant was more misery for Draco.

Upstairs, on the landing in front of Ron's bedroom, Harry heard the sound of soft talking and realised Hermione must still be awake. He didn't bother gesturing to Tom that they should stay quiet, but headed into the yellow light of Ron's room anyway, acting as if he hadn't done anything wrong.

"There you are," said Ron restlessly. Both he and Hermione turned to stare up at him. "Where've you been?"

"I needed a glass of water," Harry lied, stepping further into the room and pausing to allow Tom in. He avoided their eyes.

"Isn't the Order downstairs?" Ron asked, confused.

Harry closed the door slowly, hesitating. "That's why it took so long."

They didn't question it. Harry knew they must be curious, however. Glancing around the room, he noticed then that there were books piled up and strewn across the bed between Ron and Hermione. It looked like Hermione had been reading out passages from a large, dusty leather-bound book.

"What have you two been up to?" he asked.

"We were reading up on Horcruxes," Hermione explained promptly. "I've already read all about them, of course, but Ron thought it would be good to look over the text again, to make sure I haven't missed anything."

"Like you would," Harry murmured, making his way over to his camp bed. He fell heavily onto the mattress, exhausted. "This isn't the sort of thing you forget easily, anyway."

"I thought it best to be cautious."

Wordlessly, Tom took a seat beside Harry, who buried his face in his hands.

"Some of the stuff in here is horrible," Ron added, as if any of them needed reminding, "but we're trying to focus on how to destroy Horcruxes more. That part's way better."

"Why?" Harry asked blearily.

"Well, it's great knowing there's a way we can actually get rid of Voldemort's shattered soul. I don't think –"

"No," Harry interrupted, letting his hands drop to his sides, "I mean, why do you care about how to destroy a Horcrux?"

Ron fell silent, glancing at Hermione, bemused. She turned to look at him and for a moment, she was utterly lost for words.

"This is what Dumbledore wanted," she said. "This is what we're supposed to do, Harry."

"Did Dumbledore tell you that?"

She didn't answer, but stared, her lips slightly parted. Harry hated taking his anger out on them, but he couldn't help himself. He felt overwhelmed by the news he had learnt and by the unavoidable future. Anger overruled his better judgement.

"We shouldn't even have these books," he said. "They're no use to us."

Ron's face contorted and he looked like he was about to say something cruel, but Hermione shot him a warning glance. Lost somewhere between worry and compassion, she was caught up in trying to make sense of Harry's behaviour. Eventually, she settled for compassion.

"We need these books, Harry," she told him seriously. "It's important that we at least know how to contribute to destroying Horcruxes, in case we're ever in a situation that calls for it. We'll only have a year to study Voldemort's past and Horcruxes once we go back to Hogwarts, so –"

"Once we get back to Hogwarts?" Harry repeated, bemused. "What makes you think I'm going back there?"

Again, he stunned the both of them, who gaped at him with increasing disbelief. Ron spoke first.

"You're not going back?"

"Of course not," Harry snapped. "You saw what happened with the Death Eaters invading the school last year. McGonagall barely wants the school to be reopened."

"It's Malfoy's fault that Death Eaters got in and attacked us in the first place," Ron said angrily. "There's no way he's getting back into Hogwarts, so that won't happen again."

"But what makes you think Hogwarts is safer now than it was then?" Harry asked. "Better yet, what makes you think Voldemort will hold back until the end of the year before trying to get to me?"

"Harry –"

"Do you think he cares whether or not I've passed my NEWTs before he tries to kill me?" Harry carried on sarcastically, his temper rising. "Do you think he'll hesitate for one _minute_ before attacking the school with me in it now Dumbledore's gone?"

"Hogwarts is one of the safest places in Britain for us to be, Harry," said Hermione seriously, desperate to be understood. "I know you're scared, but there's no reason to be like this. Just because Dumbledore has gone away, doesn't mean the worst has happened. He's going to come back. We're going to be safe at Hogwarts."

Immediately, Harry stood up. He couldn't take the ignorance behind their hope, or the way they stared at him as if he didn't know exactly what was going on in the world. They spoke about Horcruxes as if there was time too hunt them slowly, as if they might be able to find more of them from the safety of Dumbledore's wisdom in the walls of Hogwarts Castle.

"You don't know what it's like out there!" he shouted before he knew what he was doing. "You don't know what's waiting for us outside of the Burrow – we can't just go back to Hogwarts, Hermione! We can't finish our education or act like normal people without a care in the world. There's a war going on to have me killed and we're all a part of it now!"

The pain he saw in her face made his throat burn and his eyes sting, but he didn't care. As much as he resented Ron and Hermione for the way they had treated him and the choices they had made in the past, he couldn't let them carry on thinking they were safe. He had no choice but to tell them exactly how he saw the world, because the fear that this horrible reality inspired within him was the only thing giving him a chance of survival.

In desperation to get away, Harry moved across the room to the corner by the door. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, aware he was being watched, aware of their fear and judgements.

"It's useless," he murmured, feeling Tom pass close by. His fingertips clutched at the doorknob, his back to Ron and Hermione. "If you want to stay safe – either of you – I don't suggest going back..."

"We'll stay with you," Hermione whispered at once. It pained him to hear her broken voice. "Whatever happens."

Harry held back a retort, his eyes clenched shut. He shook his head. There was nothing left to say. He left the bedroom, ending the discussion.

Darkness surrounded him on the landing outside Ron's bedroom, comforting him almost as much as Tom, who stood close, letting him pass. It didn't matter to him whose sleep he disturbed when he fled down the stairs, wanting to get away as quickly as possible. His chest burned in sickened regret for the choices he had made and his head span as if the world was speeding up around him in frenzied wrath. On the ground floor of the Burrow, he headed for the living room.

"What is the matter with you?" Tom asked curiously when they slowed to a stop. Neither of them sat down. Harry couldn't help himself from turning this way and that way, closing his eyes tightly, gripping his own skull.

"They don't understand what happened," he hissed, scared of choking on his own words. "None of them do..."

It was only in that moment that he realised how risky it was to keep Ron, Hermione, and the Order ignorant of Dumbledore's death. Who knew what kind of disadvantage they'd be at because of his mistake. He couldn't get his head around it, but turned in circles, trying to calm his mind, trying not to think, trying to avoid it all...

"We are safe," Tom told him softly. "Not a single soul knows about Dumbledore's death. Not the Order, not the Death Eaters. We are safe..."

Harry sat on the very edge of a couch, unable to stand on his shaking limbs. It came as a surprise to him when he felt the weight of the couch shift. Tom sat beside him. He couldn't bring himself to look at him, until he felt a soft hand on his own.

"Why does it have to be this way, Tom?" he murmured.

He didn't answer at once. Harry felt broken, as if he may fall apart if he didn't stay in a contorted position, closing is eyes, tempted to run his hands through the roots of his hair. Tom's cold hand stayed securely on his own, preventing him from it.

"The Order are strong," Tom whispered. "Dumbledore was strong. Once the war begins beyond these walls, furthermore, the Death Eaters will be strong too... Yet through all of this, I shall remain by your side. Your friends will go to school. This is how it will be."

Harry looked up at him then, his eyes prickling. He did everything he could to not cry. Tom's dark eyes were on him, shining crimson in the soft light. It was only when he reached up a cold hand to brush away a strand of Harry's hair that he felt safe. They were in this together. He closed his eyes.

"Will they be safe?" he asked. "Ron and Hermione?"

Tom didn't lie, to his surprise. He didn't pretend.

"They'll be responsible for themselves. As will everyone."

Harry tried to take this as good news. Hermione was smart enough to protect them, surely.

"And what about us? We won't go back to Hogwarts..."

Tom squeezed Harry's hand softly. He didn't look frightened. If anything, there was something close to a smile on his face.

"Together," he whispered, "we cannot be defeated."

– X –

The next morning dawned late and grey. Harry was the first to wake up, which had become a usual routine, and since he couldn't stand laying in bed, full of guilt, he forced himself to get up, get dressed, and head down for breakfast. Early summer sunlight should have crept above the horizon to warm the Burrow's eastward windows and garden in its radiance, but all Harry saw through the clean windows he passed was a sea of grey cloud high above trees swaying slowly in the cold, bitter air.

He was greeted by the smell of cinnamon and coffee in the kitchen, which momentarily warmed his senses. The only people awake so far were Ginny, Draco, and Mrs Weasley.

"Good morning, Harry, dear," Mrs Weasley greeted kindly upon seeing his arrival, casting him a kind smile he didn't deserve. "Would you like some breakfast?"

A truthful answer would be 'no', but Harry couldn't bring himself to decline. He nodded politely, murmuring his thanks as he pulled back a hard wooden chair and took a seat. Ginny sat across from him with a bowl of steaming porridge at her fingertips. Her brown eyes focused in on him, the luminance of her flaming auburn hair and freckles startling even in the bleak light of day.

"Here you are, dear."

Mrs Weasley set a plate of plain toast in front of him. It's all he felt like eating.

"There's also coffee in the pot," she told him, "freshly brewed. If you need anything else, I'll be in the living room."

"Thanks..."

She smiled once more, but when she turned away, Harry thought he saw a shadow of mourning cross her face. It reminded him of the conversation the Order had had last night. He thought it over slowly and concluded that the look in her eyes and the stilled, quiet atmosphere of the kitchen meant Draco had been told about his mother's disappearance.

A strained moment passed in the kitchen when she left, accompanied only by the occasional clunk of a spoon against a bowl from Ginny. She wasn't interesting in starting any conversations, to Harry's relief, and she had stopped starting at him, finally, but it didn't change that fact that they were three very different teenagers facing three very different lives. Harry realised just how strange it was that nobody but Ron and Hermione spoke as friends anymore.

Keeping his eyes down, he tried to eat his toast, but found it difficult. His mouth was dry and no amount of coffee helped him or made him feel awake. He wanted to understand how Draco was reacting to the news of Narcissa's disappearance, but he was reluctant to stare too much. He felt guilty for his burning interest, and felt that if he looked at anyone too directly today, they would see what he had done by the light that had fallen from his eyes. So, he stuck to glancing up in surreptitious curiosity every now and then.

From a series of nervous, uneven glances, he was able to get a clear idea on what Draco was going through. The first thing he noticed from the way he acted was that he hadn't touched his bowl of porridge. The heat evaporated in wisps of steam, going unnoticed, despite Draco's downcast eyes. Harry thought at first that he may have been given the news this morning, except there were no signs of grief on his face, no indication that he had been crying. Unless, Harry realised with a sinking sensation, he was still in a state of shock.

Harry hated to see the pain Draco showed and the way he paused with that mournful expression on his face, but he was transfixed. Despite his better judgement and the knowledge that it was Voldemort, and no on else, who had set the Malfoys up for failure, he blamed himself. It felt cruel, suddenly, that he had dragged Draco here, stuck under the Order's watchful gaze, confined to a bedroom that was not his own, with the world outside rapidly changing. He had no control over what happened to him and what was happening to his family...

"'Morning," said a groggy voice behind Harry, making him jump. Ron had arrived. Worse than this, he had caught Harry staring at Draco and he didn't look pleased.

"'Morning," Harry mumbled back, hastily raising a piece of toast to his mouth.

"What're you up to?" Ron asked, not wholly lighthearted enough to hide his sudden mistrust.

"Trying to wake up."

Ron said nothing, but remained where he was standing. Harry reached for the pot of coffee, pouring himself a cup. He heard the sound of lighter footsteps. Hermione was awake.

"Good morning," she greeted them all cheerfully.

Harry nodded at her as she took a seat next to him. She drew in a deep breath, sighing pleasantly and reaching for the coffee he had just put down.

"How are you all?" she asked.

"I'm good," Ginny answered, smiling at her.

"Fine," Harry murmured.

"Fantastic," answered Ron heavily, "assuming it's a good day to actually _support_ the Order."

His words dragged forth heavy awkwardness. Harry glared at Ron, dropping his toast back onto his plate. Hermione glanced from Harry to Ron to Draco, pausing in her pouring. Draco glanced at her grimly and – without a word – stood up. In seconds, he was gone.

Hermione put her mug of coffee down with a heavy _clunk_ to glare at Ron.

"What was that?" she demanded.

"What?" he asked, mocking innocence. "I'm only saying!"

She shook her head, bearing her teeth. Her good mood had evaporated. Harry thought he was safe from this argument, but Ron immediately turned on him rather than face Hermione himself.

"What're you speaking to Malfoy for, anyway?" he barked. "He's bad news."

"Who says I was speaking to him?" Harry asked scathingly, soon adding, "and if I were, what makes you think that's any of your business?"

"We're your mates," Ron stated. "We're supposed to protect you from trouble like him."

"Speak for yourself," Hermione told him. "I think Harry can speak to whomever he wants."

Ron tutted loudly, glaring at her. He moved across the room to fall into a seat next to Ginny, who diverted her attention from him, glancing up at Hermione in a half-apologetic gesture. Ron's tempter didn't cool, even when he began making himself a pile of breakfast. Harry watched him for a moment, his eyes narrowing.

"What's your problem?"

Ron glanced up at him unkindly and spoke through a mouthful of half-chewed food.

"He's my bloody problem. 'Shouldn't even be allowed near the Order, never mind in my house."

"He has as much right here as I do."

"You're my mate, though."

Harry couldn't say he agreed. He took a swig of burning coffee.

"You've got to stop trusting him, Harry. I'm telling you. It'll be the death of you."

Harry scowled. "Hilarious."

"I'm being honest! I really think he's still a Death Eater. Still passing on information."

"You also thought Malfoy _wasn't_ a Death Eater at Hogwarts," Harry pointed out flatly, anger boiling within him. "Until he was – then you thought he _had_ to be passing on information now."

"But he is!"

"Don't be stupid, Ron," said Hermione.

"He bloody is though!"

They both ignored him this time. Harry pushed away his plate of half-finished toast for good, feeling sick with anger. He drew in a deep breath, standing up.

"Where are you going?" Ron demanded.

"Away from you."

He didn't pay attention when Ron scoffed at him. He headed out the door, storming down the hall. Just as he was about to inquire where Tom was, he heard footsteps behind him and turned around, expecting Hermione. It was Ginny, however, who had followed him, her face alight with concern.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"I'm fine..."

He glanced back down the hall, thankful that she had shut the door to the kitchen. Her pale face was illuminated in the diffused daylight that leaked through the nearest window, but it wasn't nearly as pale as Tom's face, which was visible towering over her shoulder. Harry felt suddenly nervous.

"Ignore Ron," Ginny told him flatly. "He's just been a prick for no reason, lately. He doesn't mean it."

Harry nodded stiffly, hoping she wasn't just being kind. It made him feel strangely comforted to hear this from her.

"It's not really me I care about, though," he murmured honestly. "It's just the way he deals with Malfoy. It's only getting worse..."

"I know."

He couldn't tell whether she cared about Draco's well-being or not. He was tempted to ask and to tell her about Narcissa's disappearance, but it felt too cruel, in case Draco didn't want people to know. He bit the inside of his lip instead, ignoring Tom, who paced past Ginny to stand beside him.

"You should speak to him," Ginny said. "Draco, I mean. He doesn't seem well, lately."

"I'm not sure he'd listen."

"True... but it could mean a lot to him to know not everyone here hates him."

She had a valid point. Harry didn't know how to express this to her. He was about to speak, until she blissfully smiled at him, taking a step back to end this conversation.

"That's all I wanted to say, anyway. I'll see you around, Harry."

"See you around..."

He was left dumbfound by her understanding, but comforted nonetheless. Rather than head back into the kitchen with her, he decided to make his way upstairs. At first, he was reluctant. Because, as he expected, he found the door to Percy's bedroom open. Malfoy was inside, organising something on his desk, his back to Harry.

Harry paused in the hallway, staring for a minute. With Tom at his shoulder, he struggled to decide whether it was rude to stick around. But Draco could have closed the door if he wanted to, he realised. He decided to speak.

"Can I come in?"

In annoyance or nerves, Draco tilted his head towards his voice, but didn't turn around.

"What do you want, Potter?"

"I wanted to talk."

"To gloat, you mean?"

Harry took a step further into the room, not caring he wasn't invited in. "No."

Draco said nothing. He turn to look at the window, completely away from Harry now.

"I know why you're upset," Harry said seriously. "I heard about your mother."

Draco didn't move. Harry cursed himself mentally for saying all of this so bluntly. He didn't know what else to do.

"I – I'm sorry that happened," he managed. "I hope she's alright."

Still, Draco didn't say a thing. His blond head bowed for a moment, his eyes cast down to the papers in his hands. His fingers clawed. Harry took this as a sign that he should leave. He backed away, mumbling a few lame words, suddenly regretting starting this conversation.

"I'll see you around, anyway..."

He turned away, not wanting any further interaction. It's the least he could do, to give Draco some privacy. On his way up the stairs, he cursed himself for his bluntness and felt oddly stressed, both because he blamed himself for what happened and he knew it was risky to let others know he was gaining information from the Order. He wished he could have done more than show up just to remind Draco his mother was missing and that people knew.

In the slow, stressful days that passed in the Burrow, nothing seemed to change. Ron was watching over him aggressively while Hermione stood by his side, only occasionally paused to show anger towards his bias hatred of Malfoy. Harry wanted so badly to be alone with Tom, to gather his thoughts about what was happening with the Malfoys, Dumbledore's disappearance, and his own safety, but there was no time. Any time he spent alone with Tom, he would push forward books on the Dark Arts, telling him it was essential that they read up and stay prepared.

Although Harry listened out for Order meeting over the next few days, staying up late and waking up early just to be sure he didn't miss any, he found that they didn't seem to have any big plans. There were death reports, inquiries about who's loyalty rested with the Order, and talk of gathering followers together to keep an eye out for Death Eater movements across Britain, but aside from this, no plans were being made to fight Voldemort. No one was chasing Death Eaters for information. The Order of the Phoenix put all of their efforts into defending themselves while they desperately awaited Dumbledore's return.

Nervously, Harry watched out for signs of the Order growing suspicious of his connection to Dumbledore's disappearance and found that no one yet suspected him. The more time he spent at risk of being named a suspect, the more terrified he grew in solitude, and his only distraction was to keep an eye on Malfoy. He noticed that although Malfoy met new people like Remus, Tonks, and Kingsley, and although he didn't connect with any of them, his usual haughtiness was gone. His spirits plummeted and his usual pride faded, until there was nothing left but worry on his face.

Almost a week passed before Harry spoke to Draco again. It was during a hissed conversation about the latest spell-book he was reading with Tom that someone knocked on Ron's half-open bedroom door.

Harry slammed the book in his hands shut with a muffled _thunk_, twisting around just as Malfoy's blond head became visible in the doorway.

"Can I come in?"

Harry's heart skipped a beat; he ducked down to stash the book underneath his bed.

"Yeah – er, come in.."

Draco pushed the door open. He didn't meet Harry's awaiting gaze, but scanned the room instead, as if to make sure they were alone.

"I heard Weasley and Granger heading out... I thought I might find you here."

"Right, yeah," Harry said distractedly, positioning himself at the very edge of his camp-bed in a vain attempt to conceal the book at his heels. He felt sick with nerves. "It's about the only time they've been away... What did you want to talk about?"

Draco didn't answer at once. Harry hoped he didn't hear his voice shaking. He became aware of Tom out of the corner of his eye, who stood up from Ron's bed slowly, examining Draco. Harry didn't feel the weight of the bed shift when he sat down, but he saw Tom nevertheless push the book back further underneath the camp-bed with the heel of his boot, unfazed.

"Were you busy?" Draco asked him suddenly.

"No," Harry lied.

Draco's eyes swept the room once more. "What were you doing?"

"I – I was about to go out. I don't fancy being stuck inside all day."

Draco nodded distractedly, standing very still. Harry pressed his lips together firmly, feeling strained.

"Do you want to sit down?"

The answer seemed to be 'no', but Draco considered it, tapped his fingers together restlessly with one hand, clenching a fist momentarily.

"I don't know how you can stand it here," he muttered. "It's an awful place..."

"I've been in worse situations."

Draco's gaze snapped up, alight with curiosity. Rays from the pale sun setting low behind wisps of foggy cloud outside caught in his irises, lightening them up. It was the first time he had looked directly at Harry in what felt like weeks. He showed a desperate interest and seemed to want to know, suddenly, what Harry's life had been like before Hogwarts, but he didn't ask. He looked terrified at the idea of his life changing now his parents were gone.

Blinking and turning away suddenly, Draco scowled at Ron's bed. It was the closest way to distract himself. He sat down on the very edge of the mattress.

"How did you find out about my mother?" he asked bluntly. His drawling tone was flat. "Who else knows?"

This, clearly, was his reason for being here. Harry struggled for words.

"Nobody," he said. "I was the only one who heard about it."

"And who told you?"

Draco was demanding as he always was, but there was audible fear in his tone too.

"I..."

When Tom didn't interject with any suggestions, Harry supposed he could tell the truth.

"I heard it from the Order."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "They told you?"

"No," he said hastily. He didn't dare mention he'd been listening at doors. "I sort of just..."

Draco waited. He was nervous and clearly didn't know how to ask Harry what he knew in any kind way. So he was defensive. His restlessness told Harry everything he needed to know.

"They don't tell us anything," Harry explained, "least of all me. But I found out anyway. It was an accident – no one else knows."

Draco stopped demanding more information, but glared nonetheless. He was assessing the situation, deciding whether or not to trust Harry. This was clear not through his thoughts – he had become too good an Occlumens for Harry to read – but through the way he wove his pale fingers together in his lap.

"What's bothering you?" Harry asked him quietly. He meant it seriously.

"Who says I'm bothered?"

Harry didn't need to answer. He waited. He wanted to calm Draco down.

"What else did you hear about my mother?" Draco asked him. "What did they say?"

Harry's heart sank. This is what he wanted to know. "I didn't hear anything you didn't hear. Not that I know of, anyway."

Draco winced. He struggled for a moment, making Harry wonder how many questions he was burning to ask and what information he was looking for, exactly. Draco may have been scared. He certainly looked it. The only thing that seemed to calm him down was the fact that Harry hadn't given any signs to indicate he'd heard worse news about Narcissa.

"I don't know what's taking the Order so long to find her..."

Draco's normally haughty, irritated demeanour was dulled, weakened by fear of the real world. Harry had no idea how he was supposed to deal with this. He clenched his jaw shut for a moment, swallowing to sooth his dry throat, and glancing at Draco's downcast expression reluctantly.

"They're doing everything they can to look for her," he said truthfully. "They won't stop until they have an answer for you."

It wasn't enough, clearly. Malfoy's face contorted in anger as if he wanted to demand better information, but Harry had nothing to do with the situation. Draco glowered at the corner of the room, barely holding in how he really felt.

"They're the best at what they do," Harry told him calmly. "They were a huge part of defeating Voldemort in the first war and they'll be a huge part in defeating him this time too."

"Don't..."

"What?"

"Don't say his name..."

The pain it inflicted in him made a cold shiver tear through Harry's abdomen. Draco had been trained to fear his Lord. That terror ran deep.

"Sorry," Harry murmured. "I didn't think–"

Tom stood up slowly. Harry would have ignored it, regularly, but his expression was blank and he seemed to be listening, suddenly, to something downstairs. Harry's eyes flickered up. He saw a slight tilt in Tom's attention and in his eyes, which shone in caution.

"_We have to go..._"

"I..."

Harry was stunned, struggling to react. Draco glanced up at him. He caught Harry turning away from Tom.

"Is something distracting you?"

"I, er..."

He waited. Harry's mind was on the Invisibility Cloak in his pocket.

"_We have to go,_" Tom repeated. "_The Order is gathering._"

"I have to go..."

Draco winced, looking suddenly unkind. His expression turned into a scowl. "Why?"

Harry shook his head, standing up. It took everything to keep his eyes off of Tom, who stood expectantly in the middle of the room, waiting to go.

"_Say your friends requested your company._"

"Erm... I was supposed to meet Ron and Hermione."

"I'm surprised they aren't too busy with each other," Draco sneered, visibly offended.

"Yeah, well..."

"_We haven't any time._"

Harry started moving across the room, overwhelmed. "I'll speak to you later..."

He left Draco in Ron's bedroom, not even seeing him out of it.

With Tom, Harry tore down the staircase, slowing his footsteps only when he hit the second landing. His heart beat faster than the breaths he drew in and he felt suddenly alive with anxious expectancy. Tom stood close by and indicated they should head down toward the kitchen.

Harry withdrew his wand and the Cloak on his way down, throwing it over his shoulders.

"_Why is this meeting important?_" he hissed to Tom, who didn't crouch, but stood tall beside him.

"_There are many witches and wizards gathering_," Tom told him. "_Tonight must be important..._"

"_They haven't said anything interesting in days._"

"_Listen, nonetheless..._"

Harry did what Tom suggested. They were right outside the kitchen door. The amount of voices audible through cracks in the old wood made Harry nervous. If anyone came out of the kitchen, he'd have only a few seconds of warning before they made it down the hall...

"_The wand, Harry._"

Tom's long, delicate fingers were outstretched by his arm. Harry rummaged in his robed for Dumbledore's wand and passed it over. Tom thanked him quietly and began amplifying the sound past the door once more.

"There's been another attack."

Whoever said these words spoke them in urgency. That much was obvious from where Harry stood, crouched beneath the Cloak, waiting with baited breath.

"What are we going to do about the security here?" Remus asked them all next. "There are Death Eaters swarming several locations, including this house, searching for Harry. What can we do to hold them back?"

Harry pressed his lips together, a sinking sensation in his stomach. Tom's eyes gleamed in the shadows, resting on him in intent curiosity.

"The Ministry is helping to keep this place safe," said Kingsley sedately, "as well as our other headquarters."

"But without Dumbledore, we can't be sure we're safe for long," Lupin reminded them all. "There's no telling when the Ministry will be overwhelmed with Death Eaters infiltrating it."

"There's still time," said Kingsley. "There will be signs when the Ministry begins to weaken."

"There are already signs."

Harry tried to silently ask Tom what this meant, but his expression was serious and gave no indication of comfort.

"How much longer will our defences last?"

"Assuming Death Eaters are as far into the Ministry as we fear, it could be as little as a few weeks."

Nobody was glad to hear it. Lupin didn't say a thing. Harry felt an impending sense of dread he couldn't shake off.

"What's going to happen?" Mrs Weasley asked faintly. "Will we be safe until Harry can return to school?"

It was too much to take. She sounded so confident that Harry would be back at Hogwarts soon, safe for another year. He hated himself in that instant for the pain he was going to cause her.

"Dumbledore left us all clear instructions," said Lupin in a low voice. "Harry was meant to return to the Dursleys until his seventeenth Birthday..."

He was scared. Harry heard it in the seriousness of his voice, the way he didn't dare to speak his daunting thoughts too loudly, as if that might make it better. Every moment Harry stayed here summoned the Death Eaters more strongly. It was scaring the Order.

"You can't seriously consider going through with that?" asked Mrs Weasley indignantly. "The boy has been abused there all his life – they're Muggles, Remus, they can't protect him from Death Eaters!"

"It's what Dumbledore instructed."

"But none of us know why he instructed it!"

"Harry is an underage wizard. Since the Ministry is at risk of falling any day now –"

"Then he should be here when it falls, so we can protect him!"

The determination Mrs Weasley showed to protect him pained Harry like nothing else had. She didn't understand that he couldn't be here forever, nor in the safe walls of Hogwarts. Every moment he stayed under her roof increased risk of Voldemort breaking through the Ministry's protection to destroy everything and everyone who dared to protect him...

"Does anyone know where Mad-Eye is?" asked Tonks on another note. She was somber and restless. "I haven't heard a word from him in a week."

"He passed me information on Yaxley yesterday," said Kingsley. "He will be trailing him now."

"Is Mad-Eye still looking for clues on Dumbledore's whereabouts, then?"

In an instant, Harry froze.

"Yes. There's been no news..."

The voices fell silent. Harry gripped the edge of the wooden doorframe, pressing himself closer, but no sound escaped from cracks by his ear. Mad-Eye was the one searching for Dumbledore...

"_Stay calm,_" came a hiss by Harry's ear.

Tom had moved closer. Harry tilted his head towards him, numb with disorientation.

Still, the Order didn't speak. Someone picked up a glass and drank from it.

It seemed painfully obvious that Moody would be the one on this case, but it paralysed Harry with coursing terror that spread like poison through his veins. Mad-Eye was the best Auror the Ministry had had throughout the first Wizarding War. He was a legend for uncovering secrets and hunting Death Eaters. If he was the one chasing Dumbledore's trail...

"_Now isn't the time to panic,_" Tom hissed.

Harry shook his head, unable to answer. _Say when Mad-Eye will be back_, he thought desperately. _Tell me how much he knows... _He closed his eyes to listen harder to the conversation and to avoid Tom's wary eyes.

The Order was mumbling on. They gave more information and repeated news they'd heard, but Harry couldn't understand a word of it anymore. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, dizzying him. He stared into space, thinking about what would happen the minute Moody suspected he was connected to Dumbledore's disappearance. He knew the Order was already curious – the only thing stopping them from a direct inquiry was that they were sympathetic to how Dumbledore's absence affected him. They didn't want to scare him.

"...and Harry alone knows where he and Dumbledore went that night," someone was saying, their voice low. "If we asked him where they travelled to and why –"

"Then we would most certainly be breaching Dumbledore's trust, Podmore," came Lupin's response. "We must adapt; find a way to Dumbledore without risking that Harry spills vital information to whatever operations he was running prior to his disappearance."

A cold hand slid over Harry's. He flinched, momentarily amazed Tom could be felt, and realised he had reached for the door's latch. All he wanted was to hear the Order speak. His head span wildly and his heartbeat escalated in panic.

"We should go," Tom hissed by his side.

Without a word, without even thinking, Harry turned towards him. They both knew what all of this news meant. Moody would be tracking their trail. Death Eaters were already attempting to penetrate the Ministry's magic to kill him in his bed, risking the lives of everyone staying at the Burrow. The time had come for Harry to think about where he would go from here.

"What are we going to do, Tom?" he whispered.

There came only one response. "We'll wait..."

– X –

That night, Harry couldn't sleep. He spent well over an hour pacing Ron's bedroom. He couldn't sit down, couldn't clear his head. Tom watched, commenting soft observations every now and then, seeming grave but otherwise level-headed. Harry couldn't take what was happening. He felt a frantic desire to get as far away from the Order as possible.

"What can we do to prevent this?" Harry asked desperately. "How are we going to get out of this, Tom?"

"I've only one answer for that..."

"Reading books isn't enough!"

Tom rarely agreed. He sat back on Harry's bed, running his fingers along the spine of a large text on Transfiguration.

"I will teach you magic," he said gently, "but first, we must know the proper defences..."

In an attempt to make at least some progress in defending himself, Harry eventually gave in to Tom's request, moving across the room irritably and picking up an old book, but he wasn't pleased to. Nothing he did could calm his panicked state of mind. Tom talked him through the magic inscribed on the pages with subtle, soothing calmness. From that very night, they began doubling their usual training.

Harry was starting to get obsessed. He stayed up late reading under the covers in the light of his wand when he knew Ron was asleep and woke up in the morning with a mind immediately set on squeezing in an hour of reading before breakfast. Tom took up the habit of sitting by his side every day to make comments on the work in his hand and offer advice. In a week, Harry got through two of the huge books waiting for him at the bottom of his trunk.

There wasn't a more important time than now for Harry to remain cautious about studying the Dark Arts, but through his haste to get things done, he began taking higher risks and putting off more tasks just to be alone with his books. He was terrified of the day Lupin or Tonks or someone else would come knocking on his door, asking about Dumbledore. He failed to foresee that before this happened, someone else came barging into his bedroom. It was Hermione. She hadn't knocked.

"There you are," she said, clutching a bag over one shoulder, "I thought you may have been here with –"

There was a heavy _thunk_ as a book fell in the middle of the room. Tom had been holding it. Hermione had seen it floating. To make matters worse, Harry scrambled up in the bed, closing another Dark Arts books in his hands.

Hermione's lips were parted. Her brown eyes focused in on the book on the ground, where it had fallen on its pages, some of them slipping out. There was a photograph of the most horrific Transfiguration.

"What were you reading?" she asked slowly.

"It's nothing," said Harry quickly, springing up and hurriedly piling together pages of '_Disambiguation of Drastic Deformation'_.

"What were you reading this for?"

Her quiet voice shook. This was the only thing warning Harry of her alarm, because he didn't dare to look at her face. His skin burned in embarrassment and nerves.

"They're from Dumbledore," he lied. "To – to educate me."

She wasn't convinced. Watching him, she stood perfectly still, as if terrified he may do something irrational. Any trust she may have felt for him fell to pieces in that moment. Harry could sense it.

"You've never mentioned these before, Harry. Not even when I showed you the books on Horcruxes..."

"Yeah, well, Dumbledore gave me these personally, didn't he?"

Harry didn't even know what he was saying. He tone was all over the place. He just wanted her to go away. Grabbing the nearest rucksack, he threw the books inside to busy himself and to conceal the title of a slightly worse book still. Tom stood by his shoulder, watching over him.

"Did he ban you from showing Ron and I?" Hermione asked quietly.

"Yeah," Harry answered. It was all he could say. "It's just to prepare me for what's out there..."

"And what about us?"

Harry closed his eyes for a moment. "You'll be safe at Hogwarts..."

She didn't respond at once, but seemed conflicted.

"Right," she whispered. "Well, I should probably find Ron..."

Harry nodded once and let her go. She couldn't leave fast enough. He was aware how badly he had fucked up, especially as Tom, too, was grave.

Harry made a point of going downstairs early for lunch soon after, to keep an eye on Ron and Hermione and to make sure they didn't worry about him, but he had to force himself. He was terrified. The rush of fear he felt and the crushing anxiety that followed it kept him on edge all day and awake all night. As soon as Ron was asleep, he decided to go downstairs, to clear his head.

It was upon heading down to the living room with Tom at his heels that Harry found Draco was wandering the house too. He mustn't have been able to sleep. They met crossing the hall.

"What are you doing up?" Draco asked him.

"I could ask you the same."

Harry didn't mean it harshly. Draco seemed to assume as much. It was just habit. Harry would have gone on to mention he had somewhere to go, but Draco was staring at him oddly. He blocked the hallway, pausing.

"What is it?" Harry demanded quietly.

"What are you up to, Potter?"

He meant it sternly. His narrowed eyes were curious.

"Why would I be up to anything?"

Draco didn't answer immediately. He was holding something back.

"Granger and Weaselbee seem concerned about you," he said slowly.

Harry knew that tone. He knew that look. His mouth was suddenly dry. "Yeah? How's that?"

"I overheard them talking. They seem convinced you've been reading into dangerous subjects..."

Something in his grey eyes told Harry he was convinced something bad was happening. Worse than this, he wasn't gloating. He wasn't mocking. He meant to understand what Harry was thinking.

Harry wanted to deny it, but his mouth felt very dry now and he knew he couldn't fake calmness. So he turned to anger.

"Yeah?" he asked, laughing coldly. "What sort of subjects?"

Draco didn't answer. He was serious. It's the worst response he could have given. Harry felt suddenly self-conscious and lightheaded with nerves. If word was getting out that he was reading up on the Dark Arts, what might the Order do about it? He cringed at the thought. What would the Weasleys think of him?

"Where did you hear that, anyway?" he demanded, angry now.

"I'm not the only one who listens at doors, Potter."

Harry thought immediately of Narcissa and realised Draco was keeping an eye on everything in the Burrow to make sure no one was hushing up the truth about the war. It only made sense. He should have foreseen this.

"So, what are you up to, Potter?" Draco asked him again. He hadn't turned his attention away once during this conversation.

"What makes you think I'd tell you?"

"Granger and Weaselbee aren't as close to you, anymore."

Harry glared, but found he didn't have a response. This was the truth. Ron and Hermione were scared.

"They don't act like they used to around you," Draco mentioned. "I'd be surprised if they even knew you spoke to me at all. Whatever you're up to, it's scaring them off."

"Why are you saying this?"

"Because it's true, Potter. Don't let them abandon you on their terms. You should know what's happening."

Harry wanted to laugh in disbelief, but couldn't manage it. "They're my friends."

Draco wasn't convinced. Nor did he gloat about it. "I wouldn't be so sure, if I were you..."

Without another word, Harry glared and barged past Draco. He didn't want to hear him talk anymore. Draco seemed to think that's all he needed to say, because he didn't follow Harry, didn't bother talking to him. Harry tried to ignore him as soon as he left, but it stuck at the back of his head. Even through wondering who else knew about his new fascination with the Dark Arts, he worried that Draco's opinion had been more of a warning than anything. So he decided to keep an eye out for changes in Ron and Hermione's behaviour. What he found the next day put his suspicions to rest.

It was just after dinner, at around nine O'clock at night. Harry had spent the day worrying what Ron and Hermione thought of him, so he planned to do what Draco did and eavesdrop on their conversation that night. With the Cloak in his pocket, he headed up to Ron's bedroom from the kitchen, expecting to find Ron and Hermione there, but on his way up he spotted two figures sitting on the porch outside, looking at the setting sun. It was Ron and Hermione. They were sitting close together, hands clasped, Hermione's head on Ron's shoulder.

Harry realised in that moment how close they'd become in the time they'd spent alone. He realised, too, how peaceful they looked on their own, without him hanging around. Through all the pain he inflicted and the worry he infected them with due to his distance and strange behaviour, they found each other. It was all they needed. It was probably all they ever wanted, as well.

In a strange daze, Harry turned away from them. He headed up the stairs. He knew what all of this meant.

"_What is the matter?_" someone hissed behind him. It was Tom. He sounded worried.

"_They've given up on me..._"

Tom was concerned, but Harry didn't stop to talk here. They needed to be alone first. He was heading straight for Ron's bedroom.

"Potter?"

Only then did he stop. Percy's bedroom door was open and there, standing on the landing in front of him, was Draco. Harry wanted so badly for him to go away. It showed on his expression.

"What happened?" Draco asked him.

"Nothing's happened..."

"Potter, if you honestly think you can hide your irritation from me –"

Harry wasn't listening. He moved forwards, attempting to get past him. "Clear off, Malfoy..."

"Don't be bitter with me, Potter. I'm trying to help you."

"What if I don't want your help?"

Draco's expression was cold. "You should take my advice while you can."

Harry wanted to ignore him, but something about his tone made him pause.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

By this point, a shadow had fallen across Draco's face. He turned away slightly, opening up the hallway a little more.

"You have two good friends, Potter. Don't throw that away. Not when you'll need all the help you can get..."

Harry had no idea why Draco would give him this advice, no matter how cruel. It gave him a horrid sense of foreboding.

"What's gotten into you, Malfoy?"

Draco didn't answer. Harry watched him closely; his expression turned suddenly sour.

"Keep your friends close, Potter..."

With that, he strode past Harry and Tom, down the wooden staircase. Harry had no idea what was bothering him. He didn't see him again that night.

It wasn't until the next day that Harry learnt what had changed. From under the Invisibility Cloak, he had Tom snuck down to the Burrow's kitchen in the hope of hearing more information on the Order of the Phoenix. What surprised Harry, however, was that Lupin had already arrived at the house early. He wasn't in the kitchen, but in the living room instead, where the door had been closed. He was speaking to Draco. This told Harry everything he needed to know.

Narcissa Malfoy had been found dead. Lupin explained this as calmly as he could in the quiet living room, but no amount of reassurance could lighten the pain the news inflicted. Harry stood frozen underneath the Cloak, unable to take in anything that was said, but knowing the meaning of the words that washed over him. Despite the Order's attempts to outsmart the Death Eaters in their search for Draco's mother, they had failed to gain the upper hand. It was a brutal fight. Even the Ministry and the Daily Prophet knew what had happened.

"_You promised me!_" Draco shouted, his broken voice echoing through the hall. "_You said you could find her – you said you could save her!_"

Lupin didn't attempt to deny it. He knew this pain. It was clear from his shaking voice.

Draco fled from the front room after only a few minutes. Harry didn't look up to see his face. He knew his eyes would be red, his face contorted in a pained, shocked look of anguish. He stayed crouched beneath the Cloak, half-wishing he hadn't overheard this conversation. As if that would make it go away.

When Harry eventually decided to move, he started by glancing towards the staircase Malfoy had fled up. There was no way he'd dare to go up there. It was too early, too soon. So, feeling dazed, he staggered to his feet a little, turning towards Tom's whisper that they should listen to the Order speak. It wasn't a good meeting. Harry spent the whole time transfixed to the way everyone in the Order shamefully addressed the fact that they had failed to keep Narcissa alive.

When it became too stressful to listen any longer, Harry headed back to Ron's bedroom. He barely spoke about it, but Tom seemed to understand. It was nearly midnight and the Order hadn't made any obvious progress in their other projects. To his dismay, Percy's bedroom door was open and there, sitting in the end of his bed, his back to Harry, was Draco. Harry stopped walking and he knew Malfoy heard his footsteps, but he was temped to carry on, to not say a word. Guilt got the better of him.

"Draco?"

There was no response. He didn't know what he expected. He wasn't sure there was anything he could say.

"I... I know how you feel," he managed. "Losing someone."

Silence. Harry forced himself to carry on.

"I know what you're going through and..."

He wanted to say that he knew how much pain Draco was about to feel. He wanted to say that although it feels like it's going to last forever, it won't. Because death is natural. But the words never came. There was only one thing he could say.

"Our mothers died to protect us... That's more than most people have."

Draco's head bowed at once. He held his face in his hands, his fingers clawed on his hairline. Harry understood he should leave. The only reason Malfoy didn't tell him to go away, doubtlessly, was he feared the way his voice would crack and fall under the anguish he felt. Harry left. He made his footsteps obvious, closed the door, and didn't say a single word.

The next morning, he awoke feeling strange. It was early and the sun was barely up; all he saw outside was a pastel whirl of purple, yellow, and white. Ron was asleep. The room was perfectly quiet. Harry would have drifted off to sleep again, if he didn't feel suddenly wide awake, driven by a sense of foreboding. He reached for his glasses. Staggering up, he grabbed his wand too, trying to make as little noise as possible getting out of bed. He needed something to drink, or at least to wash his face, to get up. He was stuck wondering whether last night had been a horrid dream.

On his way down to the bathroom, after slipping from Ron's room, something caught his eye. There was light shining through Percy's bedroom door, which was slightly ajar. This – Harry realised in his groggy state of mind – meant that Malfoy had to be awake. So, with a sudden conviction that this is what he sensed, Harry knocked on the door. There came no response. He knocked again, pushing the door open wider. Still, no one moved, no one spoke. Harry headed into the room, brow furrowed, looking around.

Malfoy was nowhere to be seen. The curtains were open, soft sunlight filtering in. The bed had been made. There, sitting neatly on a pillow, was a note. Harry's heart started racing. He moved forwards at once.

He couldn't keep his hands stable when he fumbled to unfold the parchment. There was a design on the front of it, the Malfoy Family Crest. Unable to think why, he read the message inside, which was scrawled in rushed, slender handwriting:

_By the time you read this, I'll be gone. Don't follow me. Don't tell them where I've been._

Harry's eyes slid across the single line of writing once. He paused and read it again. It didn't make more sense. A third time, he felt sick. Draco had given up; that wash is first thought. To join the Dark Lord, or to look for his mother in futile hope, or to run on his own. Whatever the reason, it terrified Harry. The war had turned brutal. He didn't know how Draco was supposed to survive on his own...

Footsteps made a sound behind him, but didn't fret. He knew it was Tom. Some part of him, subconscious or not, had asked for company, because he couldn't deal with this alone. He kept staring down at the thick piece of parchment, believing – not in vanity – that it was written specifically for him. _Don't tell them where I've been..._

"What's happened?" Tom inquired softly.

Harry tried to shake his head. His throat felt sore. "He's run away..."

It was only then that he realised the room had been cleared out. There were none of Draco's school supplies around, no books, no clothes, no trunk at the end of Percy's bed. There was only an empty ink-pot on a dresser and the note in Harry's hands.

Looking up seemed to have broken some kind of curse. In the light of the early morning sunrise, Harry examined Percy's room and realised then just how unfitting it was for Draco. He must have felt he didn't belong here. In a house of a family he had hated for years, in a bedroom of someone he didn't even know. He must have felt that – especially after Order meetings – he wasn't meant to be here. His choice to leave filled Harry with a sudden sense of rightness, despite his belief that the world outside was too dangerous to survive in alone. Draco had lost everything. Nobody could save him but himself now...

"I suppose it is no surprise," Tom observed.

Harry could only whisper his response. "Why's that?"

Tom straightened up, doubtlessly glancing out across the garden over Harry's shoulder.

"You are either the safest or the most dangerous wizard to be around, as the Chosen One," Tom explained. "Draco would not have wanted to take that risk..."

Especially after the Order's terror, Harry realised. It wasn't easy to realise. It made him feel oddly lonely.

Tom didn't say another word. Nor did Harry make a response. He didn't even mind it when Tom reached for the note in his hand, gently taking it away and placing it back on the pillow. Harry didn't feel like he could have willingly done it himself. It stopped him from obsessing over the question of where Draco had gone, where he was going, and what would happen to him now. Harry turned away from the room. From there, he kept walking.

He felt no desire to wake anyone up or start a panic about Draco's whereabouts. The least he could do, knowing Draco's state of mind, was give him a few hours' head start in front of the Order. This was his decision, after all, his life. Harry really couldn't bring himself to interfere. He trusted Draco wasn't stupid or brave enough to go after the Death Eaters and Voldemort alone. He had a feeling Draco might try to avoid the war altogether, to get as far away from the Order and Death Eaters as possible. They were the two most dangerous groups, alongside the Ministry. Anyone smart enough to survive the war would first of all avoid them.

Harry lay in bed, but didn't sleep. All he could think about was the amount of men and women, witches and wizards, dying from the early dawn of this war. Things were already getting terrible. Everyone knew it. He knew it from the way the Order's spirits were plummeting, the way they tried to protect Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Draco, and him from the inevitable death of people they cared about. Staring up at the bedroom ceiling, Harry felt as if this was the last moment of peace he'd have for a very long time. So for hours, he lay where he was, waiting, glad that Ron could sleep a few more hours without being disturbed...

Later that day, when the Weasleys discovered Draco's note, there was an immediate change in the Burrow. Everyone who didn't know about Narcissa's death waited in alarm to understand where Draco had gone and why. Fighters from the Order were called in at once and – to no surprise – a meeting was called by midday. Stories flooded in and out about nobody being able to chase Draco's trail. Even Aurors, even distant spies, hadn't heard a word. But surprisingly, Harry felt distanced from their panic. If the Order couldn't find Draco, he might have had a chance at hiding from the Death Eaters too. It calmed Harry down to believe it.

By nightfall, no progress was made in finding Draco, but everyone knew about Narcissa Malfoy's death now. Ron and Hermione were eager to talk it over up in Ron's bedroom, but Harry wasn't interested. He hadn't even told them that he was the one who discovered Draco's note. He hadn't mentioned he was listening in to Lupin breaking the news, or how Draco's crying still haunted him. Instead, he stayed silent. With the Cloak in his pocket, he headed downstairs to listen to the next Order meeting. It was going to be important. Without thinking, he was drawn to it.

"_The Order will doubtlessly relate other plans to their search for Draco_," Tom hissed calmly, following Harry into the darkened hall. "_Then we shall know what they're up to._"

Harry let him speak, but didn't join in. He was trying to get the Cloak out of his pocket, feeling paranoid that someone was watching him. He could already hear chairs moving in the kitchen and the faint '_crack_' of witches and wizards Apparating into the garden. He was just about to head into the hall between the living room and kitchen, when suddenly someone spoke.

"I thought I'd find you here."

Harry jumped back, reaching for his wand. He felt embarrassed the moment he did, because it was only Ginny, but his heart was hammering in his chest.

"Ginny! What are you doing here?"

"The same thing you are, clearly."

Harry couldn't tell if this was a trick. He glanced at the door behind her. "Yeah?"

She straightened up slowly, giving him a pointedly casual look as she stepped from the shadows.

"It's important to stay on top of these things," she said. "Even if Ron and Hermione don't care about Malfoy."

"So, you're curious about what the Order has to say too, then?"

She stared at him seriously. "I'm scared. For all of us."

Harry tried to nod, as if this made sense. He still felt nervous. He wasn't sure how much he could trust her, even if he wanted to believe that she understood him. There was nothing he could do but swallow a few times, trying to shake it off.

"Yeah, well..."

Ginny was rummaging for something in her pocket. She withdrew two Extendable Ears, passing Harry one. He felt relieved, suddenly, that he'd be able to hear without asking Tom for help.

"Thanks."

He was about to put the ear on, before he noticed Ginny staring at him. She looked concerned, distracted.

"What's wrong?" he asked her.

"Nothing," she said slowly. "It's just... have you noticed Ron and Hermione lately?"

"What about them?"

"They're getting close now, aren't they?"

"Oh. Yeah, I suppose..."

Harry had no idea why she mentioned it. She looked worried and even winced, as if it was somehow a strain to talk about it.

"I guess this was always going to happen," she murmured.

Harry couldn't tell why she as bothered. He supposed she might have felt bad for him being the official third-wheel now. He wasn't sure. Nor did he particularly care. It wasn't relevant.

"Are you ready?" she asked, changing the subject.

He nodded. The voices in the kitchen were getting louder. As they put the Extendable Ears on, feeding them underneath the door, Harry realised the Order had thankfully forgotten to put up defences in their rush to share information on Draco. When Harry's hands were free, he reached for the Cloak and draped it over Ginny and himself, glad, suddenly, that they could stand together as friends.

"...indicates that the Malfoy Manor is in use," came Lupin's voice, "but Draco is most certainly not inside."

"Unless he decided to join up with the Death Eaters again," Bill suggested.

"Why would he?" asked Tonks. "He'd never go back to them after what they did to his mum."

"People have done stranger things," Bill murmured darkly.

Nobody argued with either of these points. Harry glanced furtively at Ginny, who seemed to be trying to make sense of it.

"Zhis is not what I expected from zuh boy."

Harry recognised the last voice as Fleur's. She sounded shaken, but solid in her attempt to express her feelings. He could picture her shaking her head, her arms folded as usual.

"He must be trying to avoid the war," Tonks explained.

"Do you really think there are Death Eaters inside the Manor, then?" asked Charlie.

"It's been confirmed, yes," said Lupin.

"Some of us should keep an eye out for movements."

"It's already being done."

"Do you think it's enough?"

"We'll only know with time."

At this, they all fell quiet. Harry felt as if they were waiting for something. It was a moment until he realised he was right. There was a roar of flames that made him flinch and the sound of people moving.

"Professor McGonagall – "

"There'll be no need for that, Mr Weasley," said McGonagall promptly, referring to Charlie. "I can stand well enough, thank you."

Harry felt a burning rush of anxiety mixed with hope. If McGonagall was being called down from Hogwarts, there must be something important going on up there.

"What's the news?" asked Tonks eagerly.

"Has the boy contacted you?" Mrs Weasley inquired.

"No, I'm afraid he hasn't," McGonagall explained, "but progress is being made. If we can't find Draco by morning, I suggest we start a full-scale search across the country. I've already contacted the Ministry, as Kingsley doubtlessly informed you all."

"You don't think the Ministry will tip off the Death Eaters?"

"I'm sure the Death Eaters will be prepared enough as it is for signs of their most wanted enemies wandering the streets alone."

"What can we do in the meantime, Professor?"

McGonagall drew in a great breath, sighing. Harry listened to her every word.

"I'm afraid we're doing all we can... We must search the obvious places first, hopefully to gain at least some clue on Draco's whereabouts. Moody is already leading the search."

"And what about Snape?" asked Charlie.

Harry froze. This was the first time someone had mentioned Snape since his death.

"I doubt Severus will reveal Draco's disappearance, despite your concern, Mr Weasley."

Blinking, Harry shook his head once. Was McGonagall making a dry joke?

"He already knows too much," Charlie argued. "It's dangerous, Professor. How can you trust him, knowing he ran from Hogwarts with the Death Eaters?"

The whole world seemed to stop. Harry was convinced he had heard Charlie wrong. He reached a hand up to his ear, his brow furrowed, his heart racing. Forgetting Ginny, who was crouched beside him, he turned to look at Tom, searching for an explanation.

Tom was standing very still. His face shone with more terror than Harry had ever seen him express before, and in that moment, he realised exactly what was happening. Snape was supposed to be dead. Snape was supposed to die after making the Unbreakable Vow, after failing to be the one who killed Dumbledore...

"Dumbledore believed in the loyalty Severus expressed," McGonagall explained, what felt like a hundred miles way. "It is our duty to carry on trusting him."

Harry's heart beat so fast, it pained his chest. He was dizzy, trying to stay still, full of so much fear that he could have sprung up at any moment to leave the hallway blindly, to get out of here as fast as humanly possible. He shook so much that Ginny turned to look at him, her burning gazed fixed on his blood-drained face. She looked suddenly frightened.

"Harry," she whispered, "what's wrong?"

He tried to shake his head, tried desperately not to be sick. A shadow told him Tom had moved closer. Through the Cloak, he felt a hand on his arm, pulling him back.

"Harry?"

He didn't know whether to move, where to go. Ginny wouldn't stop staring at him. She started standing up, grabbing his other arm. He felt torn and restless, unable to think. Snape and Mad-Eye would both be on his trail. Snape and Mad-Eye, overlooking both Voldemort's reign and the Order of the Phoenix's plans, tracking Harry's movements, keeping an eye on him...

"_We must get away from here_," Tom hissed by his ear. He had moved closer. Harry didn't dare look back at him.

"Harry," Ginny whispered again, "what's happening?"

It was in that moment that Harry felt Tom escape the shadow of a physical form and go right back into his ghostly state of being. Something numb spread from his arm, moving up his chest. As gently as he could manage, he tore his arm from Ginny's grasp, stepping away. He removed the Extendable Ear. He felt Tom possessing him, spreading from his chest to his neck. He felt Tom's arms around him, moving in, taking full possession of him.

Ginny said something in a desperate whisper, but he could no longer hear her. He moved away, gripping the Cloak close to him, staying invisible. He felt Tom in his head, blinding him. His own panic faded to a dull hum, being replaced by an equally as deep but nowhere as physical sense of fear. Tom had total control of his limbs. From his disembodied point of view, he walking them straight upstairs, pausing at nothing, full of terror that shook Harry to a stop.

He was murmuring words to himself. What he was saying, he had no idea, but he had only one goal. To get out of here as soon as possible. Because, as Tom explained to him in his own head, if Snape was alive, Dumbledore might be too. If Snape was alive, it meant they could have the most dangerous man in the entire wizarding world whispering theories into Lord Voldemort's ear...


	17. St Mungo's

17 – St Mungo's

Harry felt blinded and stunned. In was in frantic, desperate fear that his legs kept him moving forward and kept him climbing every step of the Burrow's staircase, but his actions were not his own. When his hands slid over surfaces and brushed open doors, it was Tom who controlled it. He was stuck in a focused, frantic state of mind – Harry could feel it in the way pressure built up within them, tensing his every muscle, leading him as far away from the Order of the Phoenix as possible.

"_Where are we going?_" Harry hissed in Parseltongue to himself, hoping it would be heard.

Tom didn't answer, but marched them onwards. It took a minute before Harry realised they were heading for Ron's bedroom.

"_Ron and Hermione are up there,_" he whispered. "_They'll know_."

They drew to a stop. Tom heeded his advice, but there was no sign of light from the bedroom. They crept forwards. Sure enough, when Tom brushed the door open, they found it was blissfully empty. Wasting no time, Tom hurried them inside, switching on the light. Harry's heart beat faster in his chest and followed the movements when Tom dragged the trunk out from underneath his bed. From where they stood, he grabbed books, clothes, quills, and parchment nearby.

"_It is not safe with the Order here,_" Tom whispered to Harry, through him, using his own mouth, his own voice. "_If Snape is alive and well, we cannot risk he finds us here... He may already know too much._"

Harry understood, but didn't know how to express it. He wanted to run as much as Tom did, but didn't know where they were supposed to go, what they were supposed to do.

"_Where can we go from here?_"

Tom didn't answer, but packed up the trunk quickly, grabbing books, folding up robes. They cleared the room in minutes flat of all of Harry's possessions. In that moment, Harry was glad that Ron and Hermione had evidently chosen to take a late-night stroll on their own. He slammed the lid of the trunk shut and reached in his pocket the Cloak, unravelling it hastily. Tom moved them across the room for a travelling cloak first, throwing it over Harry's shoulders and fastening the clasp at his throat.

"Harry?"

Ginny had arrived. Harry froze up in terror at the sound of her voice, wheeling around. Tom became so still within him that his power loosened as if he had stepped away. Harry was the only one moving and turned to face Ginny, drained of colour. She had caught up with him, making sure the Order didn't hear her on her way. Her brown eyes were serious and swept across the room, where she saw the trunk.

"Where are you going?" she asked him slowly.

Tom slipped Dumbledore's wand into Harry's back pocket, the movement going unnoticed. Harry turned away from Ginny nervously, holding his wand at his side.

"Harry," Ginny said again, her tone serious, "what's happened to you?"

He didn't answer her, but his mouth was dry. There was nothing to say anymore: his decision had been made and he was going to leave the Burrow tonight with Tom. His head span at the idea, making him wonder all at once how soon Ginny might warn and Order and what he could do to stop it.

"Just leave it out, Ginny. Please..."

Desperate to get away, he turned for Ron's bedroom door, dragging the trunk forcibly.

"Harry, wait!" said Ginny furiously, grabbing his arm.

"Get off –"

"No, listen to me!"

"You can't make me talk to you!" he spat harshly.

"Yeah, well neither can Ron or Hermione!"

Harry looked at her then. He felt like a child under her knowing gaze and felt drunk under the weight of fear. She was the only person who had taken so much time to search for truth within him.

"Listen to me," she said in a low voice, "you can't just keep running away, Harry. It doesn't work."

"What would you know?" he demanded. His tone was harsher than he wanted it to be.

"I know what it's like to be haunted by Voldemort," she said, staring at him closely, "probably better than anyone else here. This might be the real deal now, especially with Dumbledore gone, but you know I once had Tom Riddle in my head."

Blood drained from Harry's face and his stomach dropped – she noticed it. To give himself time, he began stammering. "I don't – you can't know – it isn't..."

Ginny stared at him. Slowly, she turned her head to one side, her brow furrowing. "That is what you're scared of, isn't it?"

Harry looked away, feeling sick. She can't have known about Tom. Surely she didn't know. He shook his head, tearing his arm from her grasp. "I need to take a walk... Please, Ginny, don't follow me. Don't tell them where I've been."

Her eyes widened then, her lips parted. Only when he turned away did Harry realise why: he had said exactly what Draco did in his note. He didn't think twice about it, but turned towards the door. He could sense Ginny staring at him, stunned, but he didn't look at her. He couldn't bring himself to.

"I'm sorry..."

She didn't say a word. He raced for the stairs, out of Ron's bedroom, and was glad when she didn't call after him. Lower and lower down the Burrow's staircase, he couldn't leave fast enough. His heart pulsed heavily in his chest, making him feel lighthearted with adrenaline.

There was no one on the first landing. He blessed this fact and grabbed the front door's latch, making more sound than he should have and pulling the trunk hard. He felt the pressure build when he stepped outside, pulling the trunk with him, shutting the door behind him as quietly as possible. Tom had grown silent with him, allowing him to panic at the idea of the Order catching them.

"Tom?"

In moments, he felt something shift within him. Suddenly, Tom stood before him.

"We have to leave," Harry told him seriously. "What are we going to do?"

"We must get away from here," Tom told him quietly, "and with haste."

"We can't Apparate," Harry pointed out shakily. The reality of this situation was crashing down on him hard. "I can fly, but I – I can't go far with that alone."

"What matters is that we put a distance between the Order and ourself," Tom told him. "Let us get away from here and move towards London; it will be easy to hide there."

Harry tried to nod, but ended up shivering where he stood, glancing around to see if Ron and Hermione were near. He could see no signs of them. He pulled his travelling cloak in closer. The Burrow's broomshed wasn't far away.

"Come on..."

Tom followed him wordlessly. Harry threw the shed door open, rummaging around for his Firebolt. He became wholly conscious of the fact that he couldn't use magic, not even to light his way into grabbing the right broom. He managed to pull the Firebolt out, but his hands were shaking at the idea of Ginny alerting the Order and the Death Eaters finding him mid-flight. It was only when he levelled out the broom and hastily pulled his trunk up, attaching it to his Firebolt, that he felt cold hands cover his own. In the moonlight, Tom watched him closely.

"You needn't fret," he said quietly, "for we have the advantage. We'll be gone before they know..."

Despite himself, Harry nodded at Tom nervously. The moment didn't last; when Harry blinked, Tom evaporated into the same ghostly form as before, trying to take shelter in him. He allowed it. With a growing sense of anxiety and foreboding, Harry mounted the broom. He was no longer shaking due to the step back from reality that Tom's possession had over him. With the trunk secured, he threw the Invisibility Cloak over his shoulders, drawing up the hood and kicking off the ground, hard.

The Firebolt charged towards the heavens as if driven by his terror. Harry held on tight, leaning in and speeding towards the outskirts of the garden in seconds. He felt it when he hit the magical barrier that protected the Burrow from the world outside, but didn't pause to wonder whether there were Death Eaters lurking beyond it. The countryside flashed by beneath him and the only thought on his mind was to get away from the Order as quickly as possible. Wind rushed in his ears and nauseous worry threatened to overcome him at any moment.

Past hills, towns, and stretches of dark field, Harry sped across the country at hundreds of miles an hour. There was nothing freeing about his quick escape, nothing calming about the wind that rushed in his ears and the clouds that passed quickly over the pale moon. Not even the fixed stars overhead could clear his anxious mind, which was now fully aware that Snape could divulge what he knew at any moment and the entire Order of the Phoenix could be on his trail. By the time Harry reached London, he felt as if a great stretch of time had passed, but he wasn't at all tired. He landed in the heart of London with a heavy, plummeting descent.

The moment he hit flat ground, he glanced at his surroundings dizzily from beneath the Cloak. It felt as if he was stuck in a nightmare now more than ever, because the yellow-lit streets of London were strange. Being in Muggle London made him nervous, especially with nothing but a broomstick and a trunk full of magical equipment by his side, but he wasn't careless enough to visit any wizard districts tonight. He would be recognised almost anywhere he went; there was no way to change his appearance properly without the use of magic. A low, nervous feeling rose from the pit of Harry's stomach. Tom brought his hands up to remove the Cloak.

"_Where are we?_" Tom hissed to him. Harry followed his movements and folded up the Cloak in his hands.

"_There is an inn nearby_," Harry told him. "_Across the road, beyond this alley. We won't be found if we stay there tonight._"

Harry, in truth, wasn't confident about it, but he explained it calmly nonetheless, glad when Tom made no objections. Feeling nervous, he helped guide the Invisibility Cloak over the Firebolt, hiding it from Muggle view. Tom then attached the broom to the back of the trunk. Harry's mind was on the wand hidden up his sleeve. The idea of walking into a Muggle inn and staying the night there terrified him, but he could see no other option.

"_Come along_," Tom murmured, urging them onward. Harry was almost reluctant.

They headed into the building up ahead, where a plump innkeeper eyed Harry's robes and trunk sceptically, his face contorted. Harry handed him an unfair amount of Muggle money and headed up for the room that was given to him almost without speaking.

The room itself was dim and dingy. There was a thin, single mattress with stains on it visible even through the yellowed bedsheets. It smelt like alcohol and piss throughout the whole inn and although Harry tried to convince himself that no one from the Order of the Phoenix could ever hope of finding him here, he wasn't altogether sure that the Death Eaters couldn't trace him in this random inn, on this random street of London.

Harry removed the Firebolt from his trunk, putting it on the corner of the room and making sure the door was locked. When he turned around, it was to find that Tom had stepped from him to sit on the very edge of a hard wooden chair. The room was too quiet; it made Harry feel like their quick escape from the Burrow somehow hadn't happened at all, except his pulse still drummed in his ears, telling him he couldn't settle down. Harry shook the wand from his sleeve, slipping it into his hands. He stared down at it for a moment, twirling it between his fingers.

"I don't suppose I'll need this for a while," he murmured. "It's probably best to keep it away."

Tom inclined his head once, his eyes following Harry. He advanced towards a bedside table. Harry felt incredibly vulnerable leaving the wand there, but he understood nothing could be as dangerous as accidentally using magic now. It was then that he realised Dumbledore's wand was still on him too. He removed it from the back pocket of his jeans, realising Tom wouldn't be able to pick it up...

"We'll be safe here for the moment," Tom assured him softly from his chair, noticing his hesitation. "You needed fret."

Harry didn't believe him. He couldn't bring himself to drop the sense of foreboding he clung to. He bit his lip, looking out of the grimy window above the bed. The street outside was dark and quiet, without much to show but the faces of stark houses and a yellow streetlight staring directly at the ground below it. It was too still, too quiet.

"We won't really be safe from them until we put up some defences," he murmured, "but we can't, can we? Because even if you used magic, the Ministry would know it's through me."

Tom remained quiet for a moment. "A wise observation. Yes."

Harry balled his hand into a fist. He wasn't shaking in fear anymore, but he felt wide awake, on edge, and scared.

"I admit," Tom began slowly, "that as long as we stand together, I cannot protect you. We will have to wait until your seventeenth Birthday before either of us can use our magic at all."

Harry had thought as much. He tried to think it over, but felt nervous, swallowing a few times, trying to keep calm. He was distracted by the view outside, where a strange mist clouded up the yellow streetlight, an unnatural darkness settling in. Dementors were nearby. He figured, after a moment of fright, that this was normal for all of London by this point in the war.

"You don't think they'll really find us here, do you?" he asked Tom. "The Death Eaters, I mean."

For a moment, Tom gave no answer, but moved forward in his seat, placing his hands together. Harry didn't hear any movement, but caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. Tom was barely more than a ghost.

"I shall watch over you tonight. It is important for both of us that you rest..."

Harry didn't want to hear it. Turning away from the window, he clenched his jaw shut for a moment, his eyes scanning his trunk at the end of the bed. He headed for it, throwing open the lid. At the very bottom of the trunk, crammed against a corner amongst a pile of books he had to take out, were newspapers. At least a dozen of them, crumpled and flattened. He threw half of them onto the bed, sifting through the ones in his hand for yesterday evening's edition.

"You're searching for information?" Tom suggested, clearly curious.

Harry nodded, picking out the paper he needed and discarding the rest.

"We'd better start from somewhere, hadn't we?" he said. "Since we're going to be stuck here for who knows how long. We may as well know what's going on... I'll find a way to get more editions of the _Prophet_."

Tom seemed to think it was a good idea. He stood up to inspect the newspapers Harry neglected, appearing interested. Harry scanned articles for signs of stories involving dark magic, hoping to gain a bit more information on what was happening in the war. He felt glad to do at least something to prepare himself. He couldn't bring himself to even sit down. They would have to keep running. There was no time to rest. He felt near enough ready to fight, or to stay up all night talking to Tom about plans.

"If anything happens with the Order," said Harry, "we'll be able to figure it out straight away. Same goes for whatever the Death Eaters are up to. It's not as good as listening to meetings, but we learnt so much from the the Order about the Death Eaters that we're bound to understand at least some of what happens next. At least to catch up."

Tom nodded slowly. "There are many wizarding newspapers that could guide us. Moreover, there are wizards who could divulge valuable information, willingly or not."

Harry glanced up at him then, his brow furrowed. Noticing the look on his face, Tom smiled lightly, appearing calm.

"You have an Invisibility Cloak," he observed. "It is useful."

"I don't want to do anything too dangerous," Harry said flatly, "at least not until I turn seventeen."

"A wise decision," Tom agreed softly.

Harry wished it could have been any other way. Without magic, they wouldn't even be able to ward off a Death Eater tracking them, if it came to that. He figured they would have to move every few days, throwing off anyone intent upon stopping them in their tracks. As if to support his plans, Harry spotted a block of text that confirmed his fears.

"Here, take a look at this –"

He held out the _Daily Prophet_ at arm's length. Tom didn't take it. It was a moment before he realised why.

"Oh, er..."

Tom's expression wasn't unkind, but Harry felt strangely guilty when he pulled the newspaper back. It made him wonder just how close Tom was to a ghost in this form, reminding him that he didn't even exist. The thought made him feel strangely dizzy.

"There was another fight in Diagon Alley this morning," Harry explained hastily. "It has to have been Death Eaters – they captured a wizard who recently wrote up an article against the idea of 'Blood-Purity'. It's not something they were happy to hear about."

Tom was genuinely interested. He took a step towards Harry, glancing over his shoulder at the paper. Although he wasn't in his physical form, Harry felt as if he could sense his presence in another, unexplainable way. It made him feel safe. Like he wasn't alone.

"We should keep this information," Tom mused, speaking softly.

Harry turned his head away a little. It was difficult to step from Tom without seeming rude, but he wasn't sure what to think when hearing his voice by his ear made his heart leap.

"Well, it's a lot to get through... I think I'll get started on it, see what else I can find."

Moving away from Tom, he perched on the side of the thin, uncomfortable bed, his hands drifting over the _Prophets_ he had collected so far. Tom took a seat opposite him from the same wooden chair, unable to move a single sheet of paper. They spoke at length that night about possible ways to gain information, deciding that they would need to venture into wizarding communities during the day, but Harry wasn't scared. With the Cloak at hand, they would be safe enough. Tom said he should rest until morning, but Harry didn't think he could.

He found that he was right. There was no way he could fall asleep in this strange room tonight, not with threat of the Order and Death Eaters lurking over him. It wasn't until the early morning light crept in at five O'clock that he shut his eyes and slept. When he awoke, he jolted awake, realising where he was and what had happened. The Burrow felt a long way away. Tom was waiting on the other side of the room. He hadn't moved from where he was last night, nor did he look surprised to see Harry sit up, feeling wide awake.

"Can you not sleep?" Tom asked him.

"No... What time is it?"

"Eight O'clock."

Harry rubbed his face with one hand, breathing out heavily. He stood up, throwing the bedsheets off of himself and shivering, his breath visible. Fog was pressing up against the tiny window behind him, reminding him of the dark creatures that lurked outside. He decided to stand, reaching for his jeans, which he had thrown over the nearest chair last night. Once dressed, he took his wand from the bedside table. It caught Tom's attention.

"Are we leaving?"

"It's early, but Diagon Alley will be open," Harry explained, shivering where he stood. "If we leave now, we'll get there by nine."

For a moment, Tom looked surprised, but he wasn't slow. When Harry picked up Dumbledore's wand too, putting it in his back pocket, Tom seemed to remember they were on a mission using only Muggle tactics and inclined his head gently, standing. Harry felt almost guilty, seeing him stand there as nothing more than a spirit.

"Come on."

Harry reached first for his travelling cloak, then the Invisibility Cloak. He knew his belongings would be safe in the trunk for now, but felt unsettled that he couldn't lock it or even the room more securely with magic. Brushing the thought away, he threw the Cloak over his shoulders, slipping the room's key into his front pocket and beckoning Tom, who could see him clearly. They left the room.

In the early morning darkness, there was no one downstairs in the inn. Harry marched through the squat hall without pausing. Once outside, the bitter winds that howled around him made him shiver and clutch at his wand, but there were no Dementors around as far as he could see. Tom caught up with him, his red eyes scanning the streets further ahead.

"You're not going to like this," said Harry apologetically. "If it'll help us avoid the Death Eaters, it'll be worth it, but walking everywhere in London is slow, even with Muggle transportation."

"I know," Tom agreed. For the first time this morning, he smiled, but it was a hollow, frail gesture.

Harry wasn't sure what this look meant and stared. Until he remembered; Tom grew up in London. Realising his mistake made Harry embarrassed. "Oh, sorry, I didn't –"

"It's alright," Tom interrupted gently, smiling again. "It is rather a good thing. I travelled London very often as a child and equally as much as a young adult, so I know it well, and since I was unable to use magic out of Hogwarts, I became used to avoiding it when travelling... for the most part, anyway."

"For the most part?" Harry repeated, interested. He continued strolling down the street by Tom's side, unsure how much he could ask. Tom hadn't spoken about his childhood before. He was thoughtful about it, staring at the ground as they walked, and Harry's eyes were transfixed to him.

"I discovered certain ways around getting caught for underage magic," Tom explained calmly, "but not without failed attempts. Ironically, it was at the age of thirteen that I too received my first complaint from the Ministry. In London, I used magic."

"The Ministry caught you?" asked Harry, stunned. "What did you do? Did any Muggles see it?"

Tom laughed then, but again it was hollow. Harry waited for him to elaborate, eager to understand. Tom was careful when choosing his next words.

"If any Muggles were unfortunate enough to have seen me, I doubt it would have caused any problems. I doubt, moreover, that they would have remembered it as anything significant... No, the Ministry was not so concerned about shielding wizarding identity back then."

"Why not?"

His question was blunt, which seemed to make Tom hesitant. Harry didn't understand why until a still, grave expression crossed his face. He appeared suddenly decades older, holding onto deep-set sorrows for a time long gone.

"London in 1939 was a very different place," he explained gently.

At once, colour rose to Harry's face. He had forgotten, not for the first time, what Tom had had to face in his own childhood.

"Sorry," he murmured quickly, "I didn't think – I forgot that you're older than me."

Tom was not offended, but appeared mildly confused at this. "I am seventeen years old. You'll be the same age in three weeks."

Harry stared at him wordlessly, feeling too clumsy and confused to carry on. It didn't make him feel better to hear this; in fact, it felt worse than ever to realise just how much Tom had witnessed at such a young age. Time didn't make people wise, experience did. From where he stood now, Harry couldn't think of anything in his life that could compare to watching the Second World War erupt in the heart of London around Muggles who could not defend themselves against it.

"Shall we go?" Tom asked him promptly, failing to notice how Harry's heart sank.

"What do you –? Oh. Right, yeah, Diagon Alley..."

Harry pulled the Cloak around him securely, glancing around. Still, there were no Dementors, but London was misty and a mass of light grey cloud obscured the entire sky, blocking out the sun. Travelling into central London was tedious, but Harry was glad of something to do. Tom remained awfully quiet throughout the trip and Harry thought at points that he was indeed bored, but he realised eventually that Tom was watching out for threats. Especially when they approached Diagon Alley. They had to be safe.

From underneath the Cloak, Harry wove through crowds of people, stealing editions of the _Daily Prophet_ and listening onto gossip in the first hour. Diagon Alley wasn't how he had expected it to be; pedestrians on the street had thinned out significantly since the last time he visited. If he had hoped to gain a sense of comfort in the wizarding world, he suddenly felt he might have been better hiding out in the safety of Muggle anonymity. Even when early morning and noon approached, the few people wandered down Diagon Alley's main streets and did so hurriedly, with frightened faces.

"_What are they scared of?_" Harry asked in Parseltongue at one point, catching Tom's attention.

Tom scanned the surrounding area, watching witches and wizards pulling their cloaks around them protectively and urging their children into walking faster. Tom disregarded the open book he had been staring at the mulled the question over.

"_There are many threats in our world at this time. Most of all, the threat of who to trust and who to regard as a dangerous figure, involved in any side of this war. Nobody takes chances._"

Harry felt oddly unnerved to hear it. He felt for the _Daily Prophet_ sticking out of his pocket, wondering if this would be of any use to him. As if reading his mind, Tom spoke.

"_Harry, take a look at this._"

Following his voice, Harry turned. Tom's delicate hand pointed towards a book on the closest shelf, with a dusty crimson jacket and golden lettering. The book's spine read: _Secret Wizarding Organizations of Mid-Twentieth Century England_.

Harry wasn't altogether sure why it was important. "_What about it?_"

"_It could prove to be useful,_" Tom told him. "_We should take it._"

"_I can't pay._"

"_Then steal it._"

"_What?_"

Tom didn't seem bothered, even when Harry gaped at him.

"_Steal the book,_" he said again. "_It will be far more useful to us._"

Hesitantly, Harry moved closer. When he knew no one was looking, he slipped a hand from under the Cloak to take the book from its shelf.

"_It's under no security_," Tom assured him. "_Now, come along..._"

Without a word, Tom started to leave, giving Harry no choice but to follow. None of the workers in the small bookshop seemed aware of his thievery – or even able to react to it if they had. Out on the main street, Tom seemed to decide it was time for them to leave and Harry couldn't find any argument; he wanted to get away from the dismal witches and wizards around him. It was a long trip back through London.

When they returned to the small inn, Harry got started with reading through the _Daily Prophet_, circling any important news articles he found. He was about halfway through the paper, reading stories on Muggles tortured and witches and wizards disappearing when suddenly Tom stood up.

"We should begin moving," he said, "to find another inn before sunset."

Harry lowered his quill, confused. "Are we not safe here?"

"It's best not to risk detection," Tom explained shortly. "We shouldn't stay anywhere for longer than necessary."

Trusting his word and seeing the logic, Harry stood up and started packing. They were able to move relatively quickly, using the same method as before of dragging the trunk and shielding the Firebolt with the Invisibility Cloak, buying their way into another inn. Throughout their journey across London, however, Harry couldn't shake a feeling of foreboding that came with realising how closely they were being followed and tracked. Even Tom seemed worried about it.

Days passed by in the same way as before; Harry and Tom slipped into as many safe wizarding communities as possible, stealing newspapers and listening onto common conversation for hours on end. Harry had begun to collect a good archive on news stories that could be linked to the Death Eaters, the Order, or even wizards on the run like Draco Malfoy. He wrote notes on possible connections to associates of the Order, convicted Death Eaters, and witches and wizards he knew, and theorized with Tom how they could use this information to find certain individuals and to keep the Order away for as long as possible. It was all in the hope of defending himself.

Only about a week into their escape, however, Harry began to notice something strange. Death Eater activity in London was rising significantly, with more Muggles being attacked now than ever. Sometimes these stories happened at random, but on one particular occasion, Harry opened the _Prophet_ to find that the Death Eaters had not only found somewhere he had been, but had killed a bar-tender and innkeeper at a certain Muggle inn he had stayed at... It was this, more than anything, that frightened Harry into doubting their safety.

With weeks before his seventeenth birthday, Harry found he couldn't sleep at night. He couldn't stand the idea of Death Eaters finding them now and felt that every moment passing by put them at greater risk of being found. During the day, he poured over every morning paper, paranoid, and every night he lay in bed, listening to the sounds that carried through the thin walls of the rooms he rented. One evening, an idea struck him. It was a thought that had been at the back of his mind for a long time, brought forwards only in desperation and in fear of the Death Eaters being a significantly greater threat than they first thought.

"What if we got you a new body?"

He asked the question heavily, impatiently. He was sitting at a desk in another dingy inn, squinting at the _Daily Prophet_ in the dim light of a flickering lamp. Tom was perched on Harry's bed behind him, but didn't respond at once. He froze, stunned.

"You could get a body with a spell," Harry reminded him, "You said so. Or that – that you could possess someone, right? You could take a dying person's body."

Still, Tom was hesitant. He tilted his head. "Why do you suggest it?"

"At the rate we're going now, we're not going to last until my seventeenth birthday," Harry said in a low voice. "I need you to be here – properly here. That way, at least one of us can use magic again. Finding a body is worth the risk. We're in London already, right near St Mungo's."

Tom nodded slowly, but didn't at first seem convinced that Harry meant what he was saying. "It is perhaps our safest option... but there are risks."

"What sort of risks?"

Tom straightened up, ready to explain himself slowly.

"If we were to be caught, the consequences would be drastic."

"What, worse than the Death Eaters finding us?" asked Harry in disbelief. His spirits were plummeting. "Nothing could be worse than what we're going through already."

Tom didn't seem to sure. He was quiet. It looked as if he was thinking over a plan.

"I can't stand this anymore, anyway," Harry murmured in an afterthought, his back still facing Tom.

"Can't stand what?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair, trying to find the right words. Tom spoke so softly, so curiously, it made it difficult to speak.

"Having you like a ghost," murmured Harry. "It's like you're not even here, but you're the only one I can trust, Tom. I just want to know you're actually here. That I'm not – not just going mental, or something."

"You aren't," Tom told him softly. "The magic I have preformed at better times surely proves as much."

Harry couldn't say he felt sure about it. He brought a hand up to his face, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"I think this is the only thing we can do," he said. "Getting you a body, I mean. That way, we'll be safe. We can use magic early. I don't know how much time we have..."

Tom smiled faintly, the movement being noticed by Harry only because of the mirror at the back of his desk. "If this will make you feel safe, then I suppose there is no better choice..."

It seemed decided from that moment on. Neither of them said a word of doubt against it, at the very least; they promptly spoke about how they could slip into St Mungo's Hospital undetected. In the darkness of this dingy in, they made plans and ruled out whatever possibilities were most risky, eventually deciding after many nights in different rooms that they could manage all of this without the use of magic if they timed it right. The more Harry spoke about it, the more encouraged he felt that this was their one way to be safe; with so many pressing dangers hanging over their heads, the idea of trespassing into St Mungo's to steal and possess a body seem positively simple – and in Harry's case, something he never really thought about too much.

By the time another week passed, Harry felt that their plans were solid enough to put into action. After choosing a Muggle inn relatively close to where they needed to be, Harry and Tom waited one night to make sure everything was clear before heading toward the hospital at nine O'clock in the morning. Approaching St Mungo's filled Harry with a sense of determination and a longing for safety, so even when he slipped past the entrance of the hospital through a deserted department store in a familiar street of Muggle London, Tom at his side, he felt encouraged by the lack of complications and confident when he threw the Invisibility Cloak on.

St Mungo's was surprisingly unguarded, even at these crucial early stages of war; he easily snuck past the patients waiting in the emergency room. Past witches and wizards with blown up faces and arms that twisted and flailed around wildly, children whose feet refused to touch the floor and whose levitation ended with them danging off of their parents arms rather than successfully flying. All in all, the place seemed busy and welcoming. Even the Healers, who wove in and out of rooms, speaking to patients and calling their names for appointments, didn't seem to notice a thing when Harry slipped by. He clutched the Cloak in closer to himself, wondering where to go from here.

At the far end of the room, behind a desk where three witches rustled through parchment and spoke to impatient patients, there was a floor plan. Harry squinted at it and darted through the crowd to get closer, almost being pushed back and stepped on by people nearby. The sign read:

**Ground Floor: **_Artifact Accidents_

**First Floor: **_Creature-Induced Injuries_

**Second Floor: **_Magical Bugs_

**Third Floor: **_Potion & Plant Poisoning_

**Fourth Floor:** _Spell Damage_

For a moment, Harry didn't know which floor to pick. People could die or be seriously injured from any of these causes. He didn't suppose it mattered whether or not someone was dying of a magical illness, a backfiring spell, poisoning, or anything of the like – all Tom had cared about in their plans was that they choose someone on the verge of Death. When Harry glanced at Tom under the Cloak, he appeared calm, tore his eyes from the sign, and spoke in low Parseltongue:

"_We'll search every floor._"

Harry tried to nod and turned from the main desk, heading for the nearest door. Down endless corridors, past countless patients, Harry wandered with Tom at his side, trying to take in every room and ward that flashed by. He was in search for anyone who looked terminally ill – a hunt for weak prey in the most strange context, making him feel like a phantom, a reaper. He glided through the halls without a wand, but with Tom armed as his only weapon.

It didn't take long for them to find what they were looking for. In fact, it was only after rejecting many obvious and damaged vessels – a patient bandaged up from a magical explosion, a child dying of horrid spider bites, an old man dying of Dragon Pox, covered in scars, blisters, and greenish skin – that they found a perfect body. On the forth floor, for Spell Damage, they heard a woman crying.

Harry was edging towards a Healer clad in green robes, scribbling notes by an old witch's bed, when he first heard it. He knew at once what those sobs sounded like and froze, motioning for Tom to stop too. The wail of despair could not be mistaken as anything but anguish caused by news of approaching Death. Harry strode across the room and glanced down the hall. Several Healers, all wearing the same lime green robes, filed in and out of a single bedroom, talking hurriedly in groups and passing on information about the patient in question. Harry decided to head towards them, but before he could so much as slip into the room, three sorcerers were ushered from it.

A Healer was saying something about not upsetting the patient's condition, but the sorcerers, a man and two women, stood holding each other with grave faces, asking for more information. Harry didn't hear a word anyone said, but from their actions alone, he knew someone was dying.

"We're going to continue attempting magic on her," another Healer said gently from the doorway, speaking to the family. "If you wouldn't mind, the waiting room outside has been cleared for your use..."

Understanding the situation, the three strangers before Harry wiped their eyes and asked more questions, following a young Healer down the hall. Harry felt his heart beat faster sickeningly. More Healers were filing in and out of the room with serious expressions, but in a matter of mere minutes the room would be free. They were already leaving the door open for minutes at a time, unguarded.

Harry headed into the room as soon as he could, his curiosity growing. From beneath the Cloak, he saw a young witch lying in bed. Healers were moving out, taking notes, speaking somber words. The girl can't have been much older than nineteen, but her eyes were closed and her breathing slowed. She was sweating where she lay, her expression almost peaceful. The moment he set eyes on her, Harry knew she was the perfect person to use. This girl was dying...

More than this, she was in perfect condition. There were no obvious scars, blisters, warts, or wounds on her, no flaking skin, hair loss, or signs of Death. She was dying from Spell Damage, but from what Harry heard from the busy Healers, it was internal. With unjust excitement and relief, Harry inched to the far side of the room, transfixed. This was his way to find safety, his only escape, and she was perfect. Since her family could no longer have her, he didn't feel guilty in that moment, nor in the moments that followed.

The last Healer left the room. The moment he did, Harry knew what would come next and knew that Tom agreed with him. Although they barely looked at each other, they stood beside her bed in unison, stunned into silence when the last Healer closed the door behind himself. No one was going to realise that this perfectly-preserved body was the product of possession. No Death Eater would recognise her and neither would anyone from the Order of the Phoenix, or any of Harry's old friends. His heart hammered in his chest, his eyes wide.

"_What do we do?_" he hissed, speaking to Tom.

"_It requires no further magic_," Tom told him gently. "_Only my own possession..._"

As Tom reached out a hand calmly towards the dying girl, Harry felt suddenly defenceless and useless, glancing towards the closed door. There was no one outside. The hallway itself looked clear through the small glass window. By the time he looked back around, keen to ask Tom again how this worked, he found he stood alone. His eyes flickered around where Tom had been, his stomach knotting uncomfortably, but he was nowhere. Until Harry glanced back at the girl.

At first, she appeared the same as before. Dark brown hair twisted and curled around her face, her full lips slightly parted. She had no idea what importance she would play in the upcoming war even in death, but Tom, apparently, knew it only too well. Stunned, Harry watched the girl with wide eyes, noticing it when her hand twitched, her eyebrows burrowing momentarily. She shifted where she lay, as if waking up, except she appeared in pain. Without daring to breath, Harry watched her move and shake uncomfortably, never speaking a word, until she lay still.

Harry thought, for a moment, that she had died and that Tom had deserted him, but her chest continued to raise in fall with every breath, growing calmer by the moment. She had stopped struggling. She no longer looked worried. There were movements behind her dark eyelids. The girl began to move again, taking in a deep, slow breath, but at the sound of it, Harry knew it was not her own. She began rising from the bed.

Harry had never expected this to be such an unusual sight. The girl's first movements were slow, but not in pain – if anything, she appeared to be moving with precision and fascination. Every breath appeared a blessing and when she placed both hands firmly at her sides, sitting at the edge of the bed, she twisted her head to the side, breathing slowly, as if it were unfamiliar. When she opened her eyes, it was to reveal brown eyes that stared into space with a strong, focused stare. Harry knew in that moment that Tom lurked behind the girl's mind.

Still, Harry didn't move. He didn't dare to speak. The girl he had seen seconds ago, laying peacefully, was gone. He wondered, suddenly, whether she was dead yet and what her family would think about never having a chance to say goodbye. He had never thought about what this moment would really be like, how Tom's movements would look in real life, how this girl's soul could disappear as if it didn't mean a thing. Still, Tom didn't look at him, but glanced at the room around them, fascinated, drawn to it, awed.

Tom seemed determined to stand up in the girl's body, bringing her legs attentively over the edge of the bed, her pointed feet touching the floor. When she stood, Tom smiled delicately. Harry recognised that expression and felt suddenly scared. It was honestly Tom's soul.

"This is far better," the girl spoke softly.

Harry felt frozen, unsure. He didn't know what to do or say.

"I won't be able to see you under the Cloak like this," she then added, "so it might be prudent to stay close to me."

Harry didn't like the idea of her walking out of the hospital like this. He took the Cloak off at once, folding it up in his hands.

"We should leave under the Cloak together."

Her eyes flickered to Harry then. Tom's smile deepened. That was the one gesture that convinced Harry he wasn't speaking to a stranger. Every delicate movement, every choice of word, was all Tom's choice.

Only, in that moment, something changed. Likely due to Harry's sudden appearance from under the Cloak, a thought was triggered from the young girl's soul, so her expression fell. The girl fought Tom. The same way Dumbledore had reappeared in his own body, the girl's eyes widened, her lips parting, and she spoke.

"What am I doing here?"

Harry froze, stunned. He didn't respond.

The girl's eyes closed. When she reopened them, her expression was strong, calm, and somewhat annoyed.

"Tom," said Harry immediately, "I think she –"

"What am I doing here?" she asked again, her voice shaking heavily. In her own soul, she seemed affected by the sickness that Tom avoided. Her voice had completely changed. She was weak, thirsty, and terrified.

"I don't –"

"Leave her. She'll keep fighting."

Harry stared, completely lost. "Tom, what's happened to her?"

"I can't kill her yet and she isn't used to it."

"Why can't you keep her quiet? Tom?"

Tom had stopped again, twisting her head to the side, struggling. By this point, it became apparent that the girl was crying and Harry was horrified. Tears welled up on her eyelashes and overflowed over her dark skin. Her voice began raising, her breath caught up in an uneven panic, her voice louder this time.

"What are you doing?" she positively shouted. At Harry or Tom – it didn't matter which, because they both heard her. "Get away from me!"

"Don't shout!" Harry pleaded hurriedly, glancing at the hall. "I'm not –"

"Get away from me!" she shouted the moment he reached a hand for her shoulder. She backed up quickly, stumbling, in pain. "Get away!"

"Don't –!"

"Someone!" the girl screamed then, terrified, "Please, he–!"

She fell silent then. At first, Harry didn't know why. She was still screaming, but not a sound came out of her mouth and her eyes widened more. She clutched at her ears as if deaf and because of it, Harry realised she was clutching Dumbledore's wand. Tom had put a Silencing Charm on her. She screamed silently more and more, shaking in terror, making Harry realise he was doing a terrible thing. She was trapped in her own body, fighting Tom, screaming for help.

Except, every few moments possession took over her. It was like watching Dumbledore all over again and the more he stared, the more Harry realised that this girl wasn't just dying. They were killing her. Tom was taking her energy, stealing her body, and silencing it when she fought. Again and again, she resurfaced as a crying, dying, terrified girl.

"Wait!" Harry blurted out, horrified. "Tom, don't –!"

His words were cut short only when the door opened. A Healer appeared.

What happened next was a bur. Blood drained from Harry's face in an instant and he stood still, staring. The girl was screaming and crying without a sound by his side and the Healer saw it clearly, witnessing a dying girl stand possessed. It was then that Tom emerged more than ever, but Harry rather felt this only made things worse: the Healer caught sight of a third soul staring back, not saying a word.

Without thinking, Harry grabbed the dying girl's arm. The Healer had already disappeared beyond the doorframe, panicking, speechless, and only one thing could come next. Harry pulled Tom closer and threw the Invisibility Cloak over them both.

"_Come on!_"

It was as if the girl's soul was hiding, because all Harry could see now was Tom. They tore across the room in unison, Tom struggling to control the new body. Down the hallway outside, Healers were shouting at each other and looking around wildly, heading straight for the room; Harry urged Tom away from the door, tearing down the hospital in the opposite direction. Healers noticed their patient was missing and shouted instructions, searching, withdrawing their wands. Harry could barely drag Tom fast enough around the nearest turn, speeding onwards.

"_This is bad!_" he said in Parseltongue. "_Tom, what do we do?_"

"_We run._"

Harry didn't doubt the advice for one minute. Soon, the hospital could be closed and a full-scale investigation could take place to find him. Harry dragged Tom's thin body onwards as quickly as he could, scared of damaging her. Even when he held the girl's thin wrist, he could tell she was so much on the verge of death that running seemed impossible. Down corridors with Tom at his arm, breathing heavily, dodging patients and Healers. People were being carried on levitating stretchers and speaking to each other, blocking corridors. Harry and Tom outran every Healer who knew what had happened, but only by a margin; people shouted behind them, passing the message on.

"There's a Necromancer in the hospital!" a witch shouted breathlessly to another Healer at one point. "A young girl is missing!"

Every step, Harry pulled at the young girl's arm and shoulder, trying to keep the Invisibility Cloak over them and trying to dodge every sick patient that flickered by. His steps were quick and hurried, but even as he clutched at the girl's shoulders, he could feel that Tom was losing control over her body; the dying girl's soul struggled, trying to go back, trying to get out from under the Cloak.

It felt like a miracle to Harry when they descended several floors in an unguarded stairwell and reached the emergency room and entrance hall. No one here knew of the crimes he had committed yet, so when he barged past patients in a whirl of desperation, witches and wizards looked around but had no idea anyone was hiding under an Invisibility Cloak. Through the main hall, up a flight up steps, towards a large door with sunlight shining through it, until –

"_We made it!_" Harry exclaimed in Parseltongue, his voice shaking in pure relief. "_Tom, we made it, we're safe now!_"

Bright sunlight engulfed them wholly, warming Harry's skin even through the Cloak and stunning him into a state of ecstasy. He felt like he could have run forwards in celebration, could have ripped the Cloak off and laughed in joy, but instead, he grinned madly, speaking in a rushed voice, still leading Tom away from the entrance of the hospital. It took a glorious moment for him to realise something was wrong. When he looked at the girl that he clutched close, he found her expression was grave. Brooding worry overtook all else and her brown eyes were shadowed.

"What's wrong?" he asked Tom quickly, bewildered.

Tom did not answer at once. Her grasp was delicate when she reached for Harry's hand on her shoulder, following him as far away from the hospital as possible. In that moment, Harry's spirits plummeted and he waited for an explanation, knowing that expression meant something bad. Up ahead, a sea of Muggles swarmed by the streets of London monotonously, but Tom seemed to have other plans for their escape.

"Take my hand..."

Harry did what was asked of him, momentarily hesitate at the idea of Apparition. He had become so used to avoiding magic and travelling London by Muggle transport that it felt suddenly unsafe. It only heightened the sense of dread that found him. His heart hammered in his chest and he reached for Tom's hand. She rose Dumbledore's wand.

_'Crack!'_

They Apparated together under the Cloak, spinning a thousand miles an hour in a whirl of panic. It was the quickest escape from St Mungo's Hospital, but Harry felt stunned to be suddenly outside the inn they were staying in. Tom appeared to have gained more control over her body and pulled Harry towards the nearest deserted road, where they tore off the Invisibility Cloak, barely checking to see if anyone was watching them.

"This way," Tom murmured quietly.

"We're going back to the inn?"

"We need to pack."

"Why?"

Harry didn't understand what was going on; they were safe now, they could use magic forever from this point on – proven by the fact that Tom had just used Apparition without hesitation. He felt charged with energy, ready to run or to celebrate their lucky escape, but Tom was nowhere in the same state of mind.

"What's happening, Tom?" Harry asked impatiently, terrified. "What's wrong with you?"

Tom met his gaze with tense reluctance. "I'll explain everything inside."

Having no choice but to believe it, Harry watched as Tom threw the Invisibility Cloak back over the dying girl, hiding her body from view. Harry headed inside the inn and raced up the stairs with growing impatience, hearing Tom at his heels.

In his room, he closed the door behind the both of them nervously, realising that everything felt exactly how it had been before, except Tom's footsteps were lighter and when she pulled off the Cloak, her appearance was different. Tom's soul still _felt_ the same to Harry in a physical body as it did in an illusion, making his head spin as he tried to understand how all of this worked. The girl in front of him stepped across the room without hesitation, raising Dumbledore's wand to pull Harry's trunk from under the bed.

"We need to move as soon as possible," she said quietly, her expression as dark as before. "You needn't help me; with magic, this will be quicker."

Regardless of what she said, Harry stepped forward and tried to catch Tom's eye. She didn't look up, but summoned the nearest books, lining the base of his trunk with it.

"Are you going to tell me what's happening, Tom?"

Her jaw clenched shut momentarily, her eyes narrowing. She wasn't pleased to have to explain everything here – nor pleased, apparently, about anything to do with this situation, despite the fact that Tom's soul had found a worthy vessel. Hurriedly, however, she explained the situation.

"Our haste to find me a body today has resulted in a most dreaded failure," she said quietly, her higher voice far different to the tone Harry was used to, but eerily similar to how Tom had always sounded. He had never noticed before how characteristic Tom's delicate, confident rhythm of speaking was, even though he possessed a stranger. "I suspect the consequences of such a mistake will be severe..."

"What failure?" asked Harry at once, "What mistake? We found you a body, Tom, we possessed her, so you're fine."

She shook her head wordlessly, her lips pressing together in irritation. "A Healer witnessed what happened. She saw you standing beside a witch who should have been at Death's grasp..."

"So?"

She turned to face him then. It stunned Harry to see how alive Tom's soul was in a body. Every movement she made, every expression that crossed her face, was exactly how it had been before. The more Harry stared, the more he realised Tom didn't know what he was looking at, because nothing amazed Tom about her new body except the act of being alive itself. She treated the entire situation like nothing had changed, which made Harry realise that nothing, indeed, had. This girl stared at him the same way Tom's soul always had, her brow furrowed, thinking deeply.

"That Healer witnessed us during a crucial moment of possessing a body," she carried on seriously. "She witnessed not only the resurrection of a dying patient, but your presence at the scene itself."

"What does that matter, though?" Harry asked, honestly confused. "Even if the Healer saw us, what difference does that make to us now? We can use magic, we can hide from the Death Eaters and the Order using your magic. That's all that matters."

Tom shook her head, her expression defeated. "What do you think might happen now that Healers suspect an act of Necromancy happened within the walls of St Mungo's?"

Harry thought it over briefly. "They can't know we possessed her. They'll just think I know this girl or that she and I planned this together."

Tom shook her head again, unconvinced. "You're forgetting what the Healer heard prior to entering the room and why the Healer happened upon us at all; she heard this witch's pleads for help and saw her struggles to overpower me. Healers are warned about acts of Necromancy, though they cannot predict that this was mere possession."

A low sense of dread pulled Harry's spirits lower, making him worry. "So, you think St Mungo's is going to tell the Ministry someone was brought back from the dead?"

"No," said Tom quietly, her brown eyes fixed on him. "I think Healers are going to warn the Ministry that Harry Potter took part wholly in stealing and abducting the body of a dying girl."

Harry's heart leapt at her words and he stared, his mouth agape.

"They – they can't know that!" he stammered, frightened.

"Can't they?" she asked him delicately.

Harry tried to think, tried to make sense of everything.

"No," he said flatly, "they'll think I know her. There's no way they'll think I'm some Necromancer, or anything!"

Tom was not convinced. She had finished packing Harry's trunk and looked down at it, tilting her head to the side, thinking.

"Once the Ministry sends Aurors to begin questioning the Healer who saw you," she said, "and once the Healer admits that she is convinced she saw Harry Potter beside the possessed girl... I cannot imagine the consequences."

"There's no way the Ministry will believe that!"

"They'll suspect it. That is what remains most dangerous to both of us. They will suspect it."

Harry's face contorted into a look of disbelief and his mind raced to find a way out of this, to avoid the idea of failure. His mouth felt suddenly very dry. "So, what happens next? Is the Ministry just going to chase after me with pitchforks and fire, calling me a Necromancer?"

"I don't believe it will be so quick, no."

"Then, what will happen?"

Tom thought it over, drawing in a deep breath. She looked up from the trunk, clutching Dumbledore's wand in her first more tightly for a moment. After limited hesitation, she spoke.

"Very shortly, the Ministry – and by extent, the Aurors – are going to be alerted to a corps theft and to your involvement in it. Although nothing can yet be proven and although there may be speculation as to whether or not this is theft, abduction, or a plan between this young witch and yourself, what we do know is that not a single Auror in the Ministry of Magic will be uninterested in the news. It will be a matter of hours before the Order of the Phoenix is warned."

Harry's heart pulsed sickeningly in his chest, his head spinning. In an attempt to gain back some control over this situation, he found the nearest solution.

"I don't care what the Order thinks, anymore," he said flatly. "I don't care if they know where I was – not if it means I'm safe from them now."

"You're forgetting a crucial detail," Tom added, her voice low. "When word reaches the Order of the Phoenix about your involvement in today's incidence, few will fail to pair it with any news Snape may have brought to them about your involvement in Dumbledore's death... Even if Snape hasn't yet voiced his theories, many witches and wizards already suspected you are hiding something. It would be a miracle if this did not damage their image of you..."

That was the final push. Harry turned away suddenly, clenching his jaw, running a hand through his hair. He couldn't believe that any of this was happening and he wished Tom would stop talking, stop detailing exactly how terribly they had messed up today. Harry realised he was shaking, overwhelmed by everything that was crashing down on them.

"So... so, what does that mean?" he asked. "The Order is after us anyway, at least looking for me. Do you think they're going to start hunting me like a Death Eater, or something?"

"They will panic," Tom responded softly. "They will suspect something is wrong, even if they cannot yet prove it."

"If they can't prove it, then so what? They'll think I'm involved in something – the Aurors will think it too – but they won't be able to prove it. Not even enough to send Aurors after me... If I have a bad reputation, then we'll just have to find a way to prove to them that I'm not a Necromancer."

"What about murder?" Tom asked him delicately. Her eyes were fixed on his determinedly, as if all of this appeared to her to be a dead end. Harry stood stunned, staring back. "How might we prove that you are not, indeed, a murderer?"

Harry was speechless. He wanted to be outraged, wanted to find a way out of that too, but he knew what Tom was trying to do. She reminded him that he could not escape crimes that he was wholly responsible for. He had murdered Dumbledore in the Cave and had, only today, taken part in stealing and possessing the body of a dying girl...

"As you have rightly pointed out," Tom carried on, "Aurors and the Order will, as of today, have a bad image of you. However, your bad reputation will not be limited to their minds alone. As we are both fully aware, there is a most powerful network of Death Eaters working within the Ministry itself. How many hours do you suspect it will be until word gets out to Lord Voldemort that Harry Potter is not only less pure than the Death Eaters first suspected, but wholly outside of the Order of the Phoenix's control?"

Harry faced her wholly, but his mouth twitched, his expression pained. He wanted to ask what Tom thought Voldemort would do if he found out that Harry supposedly had the ability to use Necromancy or at least take possession of someone. It then struck him that if Snape was working for both sides, he may have to answer to his Lord about news on Dumbledore too...

"If he finds out that I – that I'm –..."

Harry couldn't get the words out. Before Tom could ask, his expression crashed and he turned away. In a whirl of nausea, it struck him suddenly that he was a murderer. He had killed the only person on earth that Voldemort had ever feared, but far from feeling encouraged by it, he felt as if he were a monster. His head span wildly and he clutched at his skull, staring into space, unable to even express what was on his mind. The Order of the Phoenix would find out what he was. The Death Eaters would know, Voldemort himself would know. Not a single witch or wizard would be on his side except Tom...

"We may soon have the Order and Aurors doubting you," Tom carried on seriously, unaffected by Harry's turmoil, "but that is nothing compared to being hunted by Death Eaters who believe you are a Necromancer and trainee in the Dark Arts. While the Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry do not approve of corpse theft, the Death Eaters, worse still, do not appreciate competition. Soon, they will see you not as an enemy, but as a genuine threat. Given their distance from you, moreover, there is a strong possibility they will suspect that old rumours about your power are true."

Harry spun around then. Tom watched him with a look of strong contemplation, but Harry ignored her thoughtful worry and jumped straight to the point.

"Old rumours?" he repeated. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She tilted her had to the side, surprised. "Don't tell me you have forgotten?"

"Forgotten what?"

"How the wizarding community saw you before your reintroduction into our world."

Harry didn't understand, but a low, burning emotion was starting in the pit of his stomach, like an old wound was being slowly reopened. It felt worse than almost everything, which he could barely believe. "What do you mean? How did people see me?"

Tom did not look mirthful nor excited to recite the past. She straightened up a little where she stood, her new face heavy with the weight with intelligence far beyond her years. Harry watched her movements and prepared to cling onto her every word, feeling frightened.

"Do you not remember what it was like entering our world for the first time?" she asked him delicately, appearing wholly interested. "Do you not recall how strangers treated you with an array of emotions upon your first visit to Diagon Alley and how Rubeus Hagrid, under Dumbledore's instructions, watched over you during it? Moreover, when you first arrived at Hogwarts Castle, do you not remember how Draco Malfoy approached you boldly before the Sorting, suggesting the two of you become friends, despite the unlikelihood of such a suggestion?"

Harry didn't understand, but despite this, couldn't manage to shake a sense of foreboding. "What about it? What's Malfoy got to do with any of this, anyway?"

"It was Lucius Malfoy who instructed Draco to become your friend," Tom told him, sounding sure about it. "In an attempt to win you over, gain information, and place Draco in a position of power lest the rumours be true, Lucius did the only thing he could think of doing upon realising the timing of your arrival to Hogwarts. He attempted to win your favour."

"Why would he do that?" Harry asked, confused. "Why put so much effort into finding out more about me?"

"He wanted to know if the rumours were true," Tom explained quietly, appearing fascinated by her own words for the first time – not in mirth, but in a need to express the severity of the situation. "It's why Dumbledore hid you at infancy, sending you to the Dursleys and the Muggle world; he wanted to keep you away from the many witches and wizards who were curious about you. He wanted to steer you from certain influences. Since Voldemort's downfall, people questioned whether or not you held some great power, greater than the Dark Lord's, unknown to anyone."

"But I don't," said Harry quickly, interrupting her. "I don't know any magic he doesn't."

Tom thought it over. She chose her next words slowly.

"Although you and I know what truly happened today," she said, "it isn't difficult to frighten a group of people who spent years waiting for something like this to happen. The Death Eaters feared you the moment you defeated their Lord in Godric's Hollow; even more so when you defeated him again and murdered Quirrell in your first year at Hogwarts. Although their suspicions died down the moment Voldemort was reborn in the Graveyard, nothing can stop the affects today's news will have on many of Voldemort's followers. Those who act in fear act dangerously."

Harry didn't want to believe any of this. It made complete sense to him that this is how the Death Eaters had felt about him, but neither Dumbledore nor anyone from the Order of the Phoenix had ever put it this way. He struggled where he stood, grimacing at the idea of the entire wizarding world fearing him behind his back.

"If you need further proof," added Tom, noticing his expression, "let us not forget that the Death Eaters spent thirteen years after Lord Voldemort's downfall hesitating to make any attempts to bring him back. I'm sure you cannot have forgotten how many witches and wizards spoke to their Lord in the Graveyard, giving excuses for their abandonment. They were not disloyal. They were merely too cowardly to take action against you, believing that you were a more powerful wizard than Lord Voldemort himself, capable of magic that Dumbledore's Prophecy alone foretold."

Even as Tom explained it, her enthusiasm fell and was replaced by a tone of sedateness. A stunned moment passed between them, in which they both seemed to understand the weight of what all of this meant: Death Eaters were going to suppose Harry was indeed involved in the Dark Arts. Voldemort would once again be forced to prove that Harry was not a greater dark wizard than himself. Above everything else going on, every fear of the Order, Aurors, and Death Eaters treating him as a threat, one thought stuck in Harry's mind.

"But I'm not," he said quietly, staring at Tom with a look of desperation. Even though he stood still, he felt himself trembling, overwhelmed by everything that had happened and was going to happen now. "I'm not a Dark Lord."

Tom's expression fell. Her eyes flickered between Harry's without a word and she watched him as if searching for something, waiting for something. Before Harry could make sense of any of it, she nodded once, looking away.

Tom turned her attention to the trunk beside them. With Dumbledore's wand still in hand, she took Harry's Firebolt, wrapped it up in the Invisibility Cloak, and attached it to the trunk for the final time.

"We should leave," she said softly. "It is already late and already a dangerous time for us both. A war is coming."


End file.
